Earthquake!
by katbybee
Summary: Written for #56) The Irwin Allen Presents Challenge - 96 Hubbles (Takes place about one year after "The Demise of Daisy") I present my first HH Novel! "'So, where were you when the world ended, Dad' Crazy, the thoughts that run through your head…" R/R Usual Disclaimers.
1. A Piece of Home

**April 17, 1943**

 _ **Andrew Carter**_

" _So, where were you when the world ended, Dad?"_

 _Crazy, the thoughts that run through your head._

 _I never thought that would be the question my kids would ask. I always thought it would be "Where were you when the war ended?" But now…now it's likely I'll never even see those hypothetical kids, or even the end of this horrible war. Because this may really be the end of the world. And I don't even know for sure what happened. All I can tell you is that I am trapped in the wreckage of what used to be Barracks Two and it is dark and cold. I am scared. I am hurt. I am alone. Dear God, help me…_

 _ **Peter Newkirk**_

 _I can't tell you for sure what 'appened. One minute, we was just sittin' around the table, playin' cards and talkin' about last night's mission. Kinch had just gone down to contact London. All the sudden everything started shakin' like crazy and the world collapsed around us. It's dark…and there's somethin' pinnin' me down. I hurt like hell!_

 _The others must be around me somewhere. They can't have disappeared. Andrew, where's Andrew?! He was layin' in 'is bunk…'e hit his head pretty hard last night. Please, God, where is 'e? I know you and me don't talk much but 'e believes in you. Take care of 'im, please! I hate bein' stuck like this! I gotta get out of here_ _ **a**_ _n' help me mates…_

 **March 1943**

Life was never exactly normal for Papa Bear and his team. After all, how many German prisoner of war camps unwittingly played host to an allied espionage and embarkation base?

But that is exactly what Stalag 13, located near the small town of Hammelburg, was.

Colonel Robert Hogan and his team had been stationed at Stalag 13 to coordinate the allied war efforts with the local underground. The entire POW population was in on the operation to one degree or another, but "Papa Bear's" core team was mainly made up of the men in Barracks Two. Stalag 13 was known throughout Germany as the toughest POW camp in the country because there were never any successful escapes. What the Kommandant of the camp did not know was that there were no successful escapes because most of the men in the camp were volunteers…they were there because they wanted to be a part of the operation. Even those who were not actively part of the team agreed not to try to escape to maintain cover for the operation. Anyone brought into the camp who was not a suitable fit for the operation was quickly transferred out without ever being made aware of what Stalag 13 was really all about. Each one of the core team was uniquely talented and chosen for those talents. All the men who were part of the overall team used their abilities to make Papa Bear's operation the most successful and secret sabotage and espionage weapon the Allies had.

 **March 29: The Green, Green Grass of Home**

The warmer weather was a relief to all the men, but no more so than to Andrew Carter. He was a very happy man. For today, he was finally able to unveil the secret he had been harboring down in his tunnel chemistry and demolitions lab for the last few months. It had been a long, hard winter, which had taken its toll on all the men. Andrew had not been as badly affected as the others, as he hailed from North Dakota; he was used to the cold, but the poor food and clothing—things he would definitely never get used to—had worked against his health as well.

Andrew chuckled to himself as he carefully carried the trays up the ladder. He loved sharing things from home, and he knew this would make his friends happy, too. He banged on the bunk, and was met by the curious stares of his teammates as the bunk opened to reveal the opening into the barracks. Automatically, Kinch reached to help him with the trays and he climbed out to join them. He hopped back down to get the other three trays and the sack of supplies, and as he set them on the table with the others, curiosity finally got the better of his commander.

Col. Hogan tilted his head and asked, "Care to share with the class, Carter?"

"Well, I know it doesn't look like much yet, sir, but when it's done, it's gonna be a little bit of home. I had my cousin send me the stuff." With that, he picked up a stack of the trays and headed outside.

The men all exchanged looks. They were used to their eccentric sergeant's various projects, but this one promised to be especially interesting. To a man, they followed, wondering what would come next. Kinch and Newkirk carried the remaining trays and the sack Carter had brought up with him.

Andrew had thought long and hard about this day. He knew his choices, as a prisoner, were limited. But there were still a few. They had a small garden area where Kommandant Klink had given them permission to plant some flowers. It was outside the Kommandantur. However, what he had in mind was definitely _not_ for the Germans.

His other choice was near the small POW cemetery towards the side of the camp near the woods. The Germans never went near there, and it was therefore, the place Andrew chose. Besides, he had decided, it was somehow fitting. There were several Americans buried there, and perhaps it would make them feel a bit better…

Carter stopped at his chosen spot and looked at the others. He smiled as he knelt down and opened the sack. Their eyes widened as he removed a couple of spades and other small gardening tools. Suddenly, it all clicked into place for Hogan. He took a closer look at the squares of earth on the trays. It was then he saw the beautiful green shoots sprouting in abundance. He grinned.

"Carter, you are a genius! Are you sure it can survive out here?"

The sergeant scoffed, "Of course, sir! This is North Dakota grass! It's tough like us…it can take anything this old German weather can throw at it!"

All the men burst into laughter at Carter's emphatic statement. Newkirk smacked his best mate on the back of the head affectionately. They gathered stones from the area, and formed a border around the grass. When they finished, they all looked on in silence as Andrew knelt for a moment, his hands raised to the sky as he uttered a few words in his native Lakota. No one needed a translation, for they all knew it had been a sort of consecration… a blessing in a place where blessings were sorely needed.

No one found it at all surprising that right before their next mission, each man found a moment to come out to the fledgling grassy patch and spend a few quiet moments, perhaps to pray, perhaps to wish for good luck, perhaps just to touch a precious piece of home. *

~TBC~

*This story was inspired by a true story originally posted a few years ago on the internet about an American soldier stationed in Iraq who planted a patch of grass from home. It is still making the rounds.


	2. A Big Stick

**A Big Stick**

Lt. Valentine "Taffy" Matthews, Chaplain, had not been in camp very long. He had, however been there long enough to prove to the men that he was not exactly a typical "Bible thumper." One thing that made him different was his height, 5'2". There was only one man in camp who was shorter than him. Corporal Louis LeBeau was one inch shorter, and it disgusted the Frenchman to no end.

The other major difference was that the few who had chosen to bully him about his stature had learned very quickly why they shouldn't. The little chaplain was a lot tougher than he appeared, and a lot more skilled. He was not one to talk much about himself. He believed in the American President's philosophy… "Speak softly and carry a big stick."

His first fight came when one such bully, to whom rank meant nothing, unwisely decided Taffy would be an easy mark. They were in the chow line at the Mess Hall, and the hulking bully pushed Taffy out of line. Sgt. Olsen started to step between them, but Taffy held up a hand to Olsen. "It's alright, me boy," he said in his rich Welsh accent. "Apparently, this fine strapping lad has forgotten his manners." He turned to the man. "Pardon me, son."

And he calmly stepped back in front of the man. The bully frowned and pushed Taffy again. Taffy then nodded slightly and turned to Colonel Hogan, who had witnessed the scene and was warily watching the guards. "Colonel, will you speak to the Kommandant about me sentence?"

Hogan looked perplexed for a moment, then grinned. "Happy to, Padre."

Taffy replied politely, "Thank you sir." He then turned to the man in front of him and smiled serenely. "Now, then…"

And Taffy Matthews calmly proceeded to take Sgt. Raymond Billings apart. Billings was a rough and tumble fighter, but Taffy had grown up in the mining towns and on the streets of Wales, and when you have always been the smallest kid around you learn to fight, and fight well. He had also begun studying the martial arts when he joined the service…and he excelled at it. In fact, he had earned his 3rd black belt not long before he was shot down. Hence, his "big stick" philosophy.

Billings had been a troublemaker from the day he arrived in camp, so the guards might have been forgiven for their slowness in breaking up the fight, and for the fact that they may have been enjoying the spectacle just a bit too much. So far, the man had been undefeated in any fight he had picked, and he had nearly killed several good men, including one of their guards.

But when the guards noticed betting breaking out amongst the prisoners (and even amongst a few of their own) they realized they had to put a stop to the fight. Besides, blood was starting to fly, and the cooks were liable to get angry if it messed up the floor.

They finally got the two combatants separated, but allowed Colonel Hogan to accompany the chaplain. Langenscheidt and Schultz walked the somewhat battered Welshman to the Kommandant's office. It took three other guards to drag a struggling and bloody Billings there.

Klink lost no time in sentencing both men to 30 days in the cooler for fighting, but allowed Hogan to stay behind after the prisoners were taken out of the office. He was used to Hogan's negotiating terms to get his men early releases. He was surprised at Hogan's first words.

"Kommandant, I think you were too lenient in your sentencing this time."

Klink gazed at the other man in amazement. "Hogan, are you feeling all right? I was expecting you to try to get your men out early."

"Actually, I do want Matthews released early. He didn't start that fight. I would like to see Billings get sixty days. Billings provoked him and then attacked him. I saw the whole thing. It's also not Billing's first offense. You know that yourself. The man is an animal, and he can't be trusted. It just so happens he ran up against someone he couldn't beat this time. And there is the fact Matthews is the camp chaplain, and an officer. And it _was_ self-defense. And, he did everything he could to defuse the situation. That should count for something."

Klink was quiet for a few minutes as he considered. What Hogan was saying was true. It was also fair. How could he condemn a man for defending himself? And he knew this was not the first time Billings had done something like this. He made his decision. He knew Schultz had returned from the cooler, because he had heard the outer door to the office open earlier. He called him in.

"Schultz, go and bring Lt. Matthews back in here. Leave Sgt. Billings where he is."

"J _awhol, Herr Kommandant_."

A few minutes later, Matthews stood in the office again. Colonel Klink addressed him.

"Lt. Matthews, while at no time do we here at Stalag 13 condone fighting, I understand from Colonel Hogan that there were extenuating circumstances involved this time. Therefore, I have decided to suspend your sentence, providing you refrain from starting any fights during your stay here."

Colonel Hogan spoke up immediately, as Klink knew he would.

"Sir, what happens if he is attacked again and he fights back? Will he be penalized?"

"Colonel, I refuse to give any man a license to fight in my camp. However, I will grant that if he is attacked, and defends himself, I will look at the individual case, in the same way I did today. And by the way, I took your other suggestion under advisement. I agree with you, and will follow your suggestion. Dismissed."

On the way back to Barracks Two Taffy asked, "Sir, what did Klink mean by following your suggestion?"

Hogan grinned and clapped the little Welshman on the shoulder. "Billings is gonna be real upset when he finds out his stay in the cooler has just been doubled and you've been sprung."

Taffy's eyebrows were nearly buried in his generous thatch of coppery-brown hair and his brown eyes lit up in amusement. Then he sighed. "I suppose it won't go too well for me with his friends."

"Maybe not, but after that show you put on in the mess hall, I imagine they'll think twice before tangling with you."

The two stepped into Barracks Two and most of the men welcomed Taffy back like a conquering hero. The one notable exception was Newkirk, who ignored him completely and continued shuffling his cards. Hogan had noticed that while the Londoner had not been openly hostile to the other man since his arrival in Barracks Two, he had not been his usual affable self either. Hogan made a mental note to try to get to the bottom of the situation, if things didn't clear up on their own. Taffy was a very valuable member of the team, and Hogan didn't want personal issues dividing his men.

~TBC~


	3. Mission & Premonition

**April 16: Pre-Mission—Preparations**

Tensions were running throughout Barracks Two. Even the men who were not directly involved in the mission could feel it. There were many men who were volunteers with the team, who stayed on in camp because they believed in what Hogan and London were trying to do. They would do anything to sabotage the Germans and end the war as quickly as possible. And the operation that had started a couple of years earlier as a "Traveler's Aide Society" had blossomed into a full-scale espionage and demolitions unit as well.

They were very good at what they did, and therefore, were kept busy by London. They also had helped to organize and facilitate the local Underground, although that movement mostly worked interdependently with Hogan's team. There was always much to do on the night before a mission, not the least of which was to assure that all the needed components were in perfect repair and working order. Also, at times, papers would need to be prepared or forged, photographs taken, or documents coded, depending on the needs of the particular mission. There were usually last-minute instructions or information to be sent back and forth between London or their various contacts as well.

Every man in Barracks Two was involved with the team in one way or another—some more actively than others. Walt Fitzsimmons, known simply as "Fitz," a tall, redheaded young sergeant, though he rarely went out on missions with the team, was nearly as good a demolitions man as Carter, and often helped him prepare his explosives. In the event Carter was laid up for any reason, Fitz would sub for him. Olsen, when he was in camp, sometimes went out with them, when an extra man was needed. Foster was excellent at imitating German officers, so he sometimes found himself going along, as well.

This mission was a straight demolition job, blowing up a bridge; a task they had handled hundreds of times before, so it would just be the core team, minus Kinch going out. Kinch would handle the radio in the tunnel, his normal position. Still, there seemed to be an undefinable spark of anxiety in the air that no one could quite put their finger on, but everyone felt it, nevertheless. It made even the normally even-tempered Kinch edgy, and he and Newkirk, normally short-tempered anyway, almost came to blows when Kinch caught Peter cheating at poker and called him on it. Everyone was shocked because Newkirk cheating at poker was practically a given and everyone knew it.

.

Hogan quickly broke the argument up, and things settled down quickly. Hogan thought no more about it, but he wondered later if the anxiety in the air and the odd feeling he had gotten that night had been some kind of premonition of what was to come.

 **Post-Mission, Back to Camp**

The team was in excellent spirits. The mission had gone off almost perfectly. The only part that hadn't gone so well was when the explosives themselves had gone off. Carter had been just a bit too close, which really wasn't his fault this time. He had gone back to help an innocent who had blundered onto the bridge at the last minute, and Carter had gone to help her get off the bridge.

He had gotten the girl safely on her way, with her none the wiser as to what was going on, but it put him much too close to the bridge when the pack went off. He was knocked a good twenty feet, and it scared his teammates to death when he hadn't come around at first. He woke up after a few minutes, but was fairly addled all the way back to camp. Newkirk and Hogan helped support him on the way back and their conversation was probably one of the most hilarious one the friends had ever had with their explosives expert.

Newkirk was the first to reach his side, and slapped his face gently until he woke up. "Come on, mate, wake up!"

Confused blue eyes looked up at him. Suddenly, Carter grinned. "Hiya, Peter Rabbit! What are you doin' here? Boy, have I missed you! Dad said you only come visit kids who're real good, so I musta been really good this year, huh?"

The team looked at each other in shock for a moment, before Hogan figured out it had to be a concussion causing Carter's odder-than-usual babbling. He nodded at Newkirk to just go along with it for now. Newkirk grinned at Hogan and gave it his best shot.

"Uhhh, yeah, mate, you 'ave been really good this year. Matter of fact, you're top of my list. So what is it you want this year, anyway?" He shrugged at Hogan, clearly at a loss as to where the conversation was headed.

But obviously, to Carter, this was not a problem. "Well, of course I know usually you bring lots of candy and stuff like that for Easter, but what I really want is a new chemistry set, because I've already used up most of the stuff that I got for Christmas. Also, can you tell Santa I'm real sorry for breaking my aunt's radio and for blowing up the garage again. Also tell daddy I'm really happy that he gave me the shed for my lab; that was really nice of him." Here Carter seemed to suddenly run out of steam and his eyelids drooped.

Newkirk's eyes grew wide as he stared at Hogan and the others. "Colonel, do you think he'll be okay?"

Hogan laughed. "I'm pretty sure he'll be fine. I think he just has another concussion. Here, you get on one side of him, and I'll take the other side. LeBeau, you scout ahead, and make sure we don't run into any patrols. We'll get him back to the barracks and have Wilson take a look at him. Try and keep him talking on the way back. If it is a concussion, we don't want him falling asleep."

Newkirk nodded as he slipped his arm around his friend and Hogan did the same on his other side. Hogan opened the conversation with their groggy sergeant. "So, Carter, tell me the story about blowing up your dad's garage." This was one story that had never made it into the plethora of Carter's tales from home.

"I already told you that story." Carter whined in a suspiciously sleepy voice.

"So, tell me again, I've forgotten how it went. How old were you?" Hogan coaxed.

"Which time?"

Newkirk laughed outright. "You mean you did it more than once, mate?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't mean to either time. The first time I was five and the second time I was six. I didn't actually blow up the whole garage the first time, just some of the stuff in it. The second time the whole thing went up and that's when daddy gave me a shed of my own for my experiments. He also got my uncle to give me chemistry lessons so I wouldn't end up killing myself. Also, my aunt got mad at me because I took her radio apart because I needed some parts for one of my experiments."

Hogan smirked. "How old were you when that happened?"

"Uuhhmm, I think I was nine. Anyway, my dad made me mow lawns to earn money to replace it. It was worth it, though because the machine I built worked."

"What did you build?"

"An invisibility machine."

Hogan gaped at him. "Wait, you made something invisible with a machine you built?"

"Yup." Carter smiled goofily.

Newkirk scowled at his friend. "So, what was it?"

"Huh?" Carter had lost track of the conversation.

Newkirk had lost patience with Carter. "What did you turn invisible, Andrew?!"

"Oh, my sister's cat, Mr. Boots." Carter yawned sleepily.

Hogan was intrigued. "And it worked?"

"Well, sure…but my sister got really mad at me."

Newkirk took the bait, "Why?"

By this point they had reached the tunnel entrance hidden in the tree stump, and maneuvered Carter down into the tunnel so Carter's answer had to wait until they were back inside the barracks.

As Hogan and Newkirk were settling Carter into his bunk for the night, Carter's serious blue eyes gazed into Newkirk's green ones, as the English corporal repeated his question. "How do you know you turned the cat invisible?"

"'Cause we never saw her cat again, but when we put out food for her, it always disappeared. I forgot to invent a reverse switch."

LeBeau was bringing Carter some hot coffee and joined them just in time to hear the end of the story. All three of Carter's friends exploded into laughter.

From the twinkle in Andrew's eye, none of the men were sure whether he was having them on or telling the truth, and with Andrew's crazy inventions…Hogan shook his head.

LeBeau handed him the coffee and watched him drink it gratefully. As Andrew handed back the cup he smiled. "Thanks, Louis. That hit the spot!"

Louis smiled at his friend. "You are most welcome, _mon ami_. Now go to sleep, Andre'. You are probably going to have a headache in the morning. Louis then remembered a question from earlier. "Andre', how do you know the cat was invisible and did not just run away?"

The sergeant turned large, innocent eyes on his friend. "Easy, 'cause when we put out her favorite food for her, it always disappeared."

Not satisfied, Louis shook his head. "But that proves nothing. Anything could have eaten the food."

"Nope," Carter shook his head. "Mr. Boots hated liver, and when we put out liver after that, it was always left in her bowl in the morning." Smugly, he smiled at LeBeau, and lay back in his bunk, wincing in pain as he did so.

Hogan took another look at Carter. "That reminds me. He turned to LeBeau. "Go get Wilson. I'd like to have him take a look at Carter before he goes to sleep, just in case."

"Oui, mon Colonel," and LeBeau quickly slipped out through the tunnel entrance, before Carter could voice the protest that was clearly on his face.

Hogan knew what he was going to say and looked his young sergeant squarely in the eye. "Andrew, this is not the first time this has happened. You were thrown a long way, and knocked out. You weren't making a lot of sense for most of the trip back. Now, I'm willing to bet you have a helluva headache right now. Am I right?"

Carter started to shake his head in protest, and winced at the painful movement, hanging his head a bit. He nodded carefully. "Yeah, a little bit."

Hogan spoke gently, "Looks to me more like a _lotta bit_."

Carter grinned at the silly pun, and had to agree. "Yeah…but no more than usual."

"That's what I thought; and your usual is a concussion. So, let Joe take a look, and just make sure you're not too seriously scrambled up, okay? Besides, you have a couple of cuts that haven't stopped bleeding yet. He's probably going to need to stitch those."

Carter winced but didn't protest. "Yessir."

And then Newkirk remembered what had been bothering him "Andrew, you said your sister's cat's name was Mr. Boots."

"Yeah, that's right."

"But you kept calling him a her."

He looked at Peter oddly and shrugged. "That's because Mr. Boots was a girl."

Newkirk looked over at Hogan and nodded. "Makes sense." Hogan rolled his eyes and smirked.

A few minutes later, Sgt. Joe Wilson arrived, carrying his medic's pack with him. He shook his head at the sight of a cut and bruised Carter in his bunk.

"So, you've done it again, have you?" He gave the sergeant no time to answer as he got right to work, shining his light in the young man's eyes. This had become an old routine between the two.

"You know, Carter, one day, you're going to blow yourself into so many pieces, I'm not going to be able to patch you back together!" Wilson scolded. "Not that you seriously haven't tried already!" All the men shuddered, remembering the previous year when Carter's bomb-making skills had nearly been the end of him. And it had all started because he had been distracted by a silly argument. Fortunately, though it had been a long road back for the young sergeant, and he would always carry the scars from the accident, his jacket "Daisy" had saved his life. *

"But it wasn't my fault!"

"It never is." Wilson chided sardonically.

"No, really, you can ask Colonel Hogan. It wasn't."

Wilson looked over at Hogan as he expertly cleaned and stitched the facial cuts.

Hogan nodded. "He's right. He saved a young woman's life tonight. It just put him too close to the explosion in the process."

Wilson's expression softened as he finished the stitching. He actually had a soft spot for the accident-prone youngest "Hero." The kid managed to get himself into some of the craziest situations and should have killed himself a hundred times over blowing himself up, but he usually seemed to come through fairly unscathed somehow.

"Okay, Carter. You do have a slight concussion, but it's nothing serious. You'll probably have a bad headache tomorrow. You can go to sleep. You know the routine better than me by now. Any lingering headache or double vision, come and see me. Here, take these two aspirin and get some sleep. And stop blowing yourself up. _That_ would help." He smiled at Carter and rolled his eyes at the others as he headed for the tunnel entrance. Hogan stopped him.

"So, he's really okay, then?"

Joe chuckled. "Yeah, for a kid that spends most of his time figuring out ways to blow himself to kingdom come, he's fine. Just try to keep him quiet tomorrow." He smirked at the pained look on Hogan's face. "Yeah, Colonel. Good luck with that."

Hogan shook his head as Wilson disappeared into the tunnel. Keeping the hyperactive sergeant still for more than a couple of games of rummy was a monumental task, unless he was terribly ill, which had unfortunately happened more often than they would like. He turned back to where Newkirk was sitting on the bench closest to Andrew's bunk. He crooked his finger to the Englishman, who came over to him while LeBeau was seeing to settling Andrew into his bunk.

"Newkirk, I have an assignment for you tomorrow…" and Hogan let him know what Wilson had said. Newkirk was agreeable, figuring he could keep Andrew amused with his magic tricks and card games. He smiled at his commander. "If that doesn't work, I suppose I could always just go ahead and knock 'im in the 'ead again. That way we'll all get some rest." Both men chuckled and watched LeBeau fussing over his charge like a mother hen. Newkirk headed back over to his bench to smoke a last cigarette before bed, and take his turn at fussing over Carter.

LeBeau handed Carter some water and he took the aspirin. "This should help _mon ami_."

Newkirk patted Carter's shoulder. "You need anything, mate, I'll be keepin' an ear out."

"Thanks, Peter, go to sleep. I'm okay."

"G'night, mates."

"Good night, Andre, Pierre."

"Thanks, fellas. Good night."

"Good night." Hogan smiled and headed into his quarters, satisfied Carter would be looked after, regardless of his protests.

~TBC~

*See "The Demise of Daisy" for the full story of Carter's injury, recovery, and the beginning of his relationship with Hilda.


	4. Post-Mission Breakfast

**April 17: 7 a.m. Post-Mission Breakfast**

Hogan idly commented, "We do complicated for a living." *

Carter laughed and replied, "That's for sure! Where else can a bunch of POWs build explosives, commit espionage, blow up bridges—"

"—blow themselves up…" Newkirk added, _sotto voce_ , (which Carter pointedly ignored)

"—impersonate German officers, and fool a bunch of Germans all in the same night; and then get up in the morning and have a French chef fix us a batch of pancakes for breakfast from eggs that were pilfered from the Commandant's own stock, without anyone being the wiser?"

"Well-said, Sergeant," Hogan laughed, as everyone around the table dug into LeBeau's breakfast appreciatively.

Carter grinned. Randomly he popped off with another comment, as he tended to do. "Y'know, my grandmother really got mad at my grandfather this one time. I mean _really_ mad. Boy, I never saw her so mad before!" He went back to eating his eggs.

Newkirk huffed and smacked Carter on the shoulder. "What did he do, mate?"

"Huh? Who?" Carter looked confused.

LeBeau rolled his eyes and shook his head. " _Ton grand-père, stupide_."

Kinch translated with a grin, "Your grandfather, stupid."

Carter cocked his head with the fork half-way to his mouth. "Oh. He set up a still in the barn that she didn't know about. And the preacher came out to the house one day." He finished the bite and said no more. He took a drink of his coffee and sat back, content.

This time, he yelped when Newkirk kicked him on the shin. "Hey! What was that for?"

Hogan chuckled. "You did it again, Carter."

Frowning, Carter looked at his commander. "Did what?"

"Apparently, your mouth hadn't caught up with your brain. You didn't finish your story."

"Think you got that wrong, Guv," Newkirk grumbled. "I think 'is bloomin' brain 'as never caught up to 'is mouth 'cos 'e ain't got a brain to start with!"

Kinch laughed out loud at the look on Carter's face. "So, what happened?"

"Well, Grandma invited Preacher Mills out to the barn to see our newest heifer. And Grandpa and a couple of his buddies were out there sampling their newest batch of 'shine. They all looked up as Grandma and the preacher came in the door. Grandma started screaming at Grandpa. The men all stood still and waited for her to calm down, which took a while. Eventually, she did. And nobody said anything for about two or three minutes, and then Grandpa shrugged and offered Preacher Mills a sample of the 'shine. And Preacher Mills tried it and told Grandpa it was the best he ever tasted!"

By this time all the men were chuckling. Andrew's animated eyes lit up in delight. "The best part was when Grandma recovered from her shock at what had just happened. This little tiny Norwegian woman drew herself up to her full height and glowered at all these big, tall men and most especially at Preacher Mills. She muttered something in Norske, and then said to them, "I should turn the lot of you over my knee for this. And don't you be thinking I couldn't!"

I was up in the loft and got to see the whole show without any of them even knowing I was there! Next thing you know, she chased the whole lot of them right out of that barn, yelling at my grandfather; telling him if he didn't bust up that still, she was going to! It was the funniest thing I had ever seen."

Hogan grinned. "So, did he destroy the still?"

Carter smiled. "Not exactly. His buddies showed up a few hours later, and they took it apart and loaded it up in the back of a truck. The still disappeared and I never saw it again. Grandpa was in the doghouse for a few days after that, but Grandma eventually forgave him."

Carter again leaned back in his chair, hoping his story-telling would convince his friends he was perfectly fine. Despite the headache from practically blowing himself up the night before, he was feeling pretty good and was trying his best to talk the colonel into letting him stay up for the day and not making him stay in bed as he had decreed the night before. Unfortunately, none of his friends had forgotten their medic's nor their commander's orders from last night.

As soon as the dishes had been cleaned up, Hogan glanced over at Newkirk meaningfully and casually headed out the door to enjoy the unusually warm morning sunshine. He stuck his head back in the door briefly. "Kinch?"

Kinch nodded and headed for the radio room. Nothing more needed to be said, as he had known Hogan would want him to report the success of last night's mission to London after breakfast. This was all part of the standard routine, and in a way, was part of what kept Kinch sane in the craziness of this war.

Newkirk lit his first cigarette of the day and looked his best mate over critically. Placing the cigarette in its customary spot in the corner of his mouth, he picked up his cards and began idly shuffling them as he spoke. "Y'know, Carter, you're still lookin' a bit peaky. Best you climb back in your bunk and catch a kip for a while. After you wake up, I'll beat the pants off you at rummy. What d'ya say, mate?"

Andrew scowled, but hadn't missed the look that had passed between the Colonel and Newkirk. He knew he was beaten. With a frustrated huff, he stood up from his spot at the table and glared at the men staring innocently back at him. "I'm fine, y'know. I just have a bit of a headache, is all."

Newkirk nodded sagely. "Yeah, and you look like you went seven rounds with 'The Brown Bomber' 'imself. "**

Carter shook his head in disgust, but gave in, taking off his boots. He climbed back into his bunk, sure he would be unable to sleep, and equally sure the headache he still had was no big deal. Still, he didn't protest when, a few minutes later, LeBeau handed him a cup of coffee and the two aspirin Joe Wilson had left for him. He took the aspirin and drank the coffee, and gave his friend a smile. "Thanks, Louis. You didn't have to do that."

Louis grinned back. "Oui, _mon ami_ , I did. Now, go to sleep. I am going to fix something nice for lunch."

Carter turned over and curled up under his blanket. To no one's surprise, gentle snores soon filled the air.

~TBC~

*This line came from a NaNoWriMo Virtual Write-in Prompt. It was so awesome, I couldn't resist running with it. NaNoWriMo is the whole reason this novel got written. Google them!

**Joe Louis "The Brown Bomber" was a famous African-American heavy weight boxer who joined the Army during World War 2, fought Golden Gloves, and gave many exhibition matches to entertain the troops.


	5. Disaster

**7:00 a.m. Pre- Bomb Test- Hamburg Air Base—North of Hammelburg**

The test of one of the newest and most feared weapons in the German army was going to take place in an hour. If it was successful, it would change everything for Hitler. It would mean he would win this war in no uncertain terms. He would finally be able to strike at the heart of his most tenacious enemies…the Americans. He knew the plans they were working on were similar, but his best agents had been unable to discover specifics. So, his scientists had forged ahead, and today, their work was to be tested. And Hitler, in his infinitely illogical manner, chose to test the weapon in a forested section of Northern Germany, rather than in a flatter area. The fact that the base he chose for this operation was both fully occupied and located less than twenty kilometers from a populated area bothered him not at all. He took no notice of such details. And his advisors knew better than to point out any such trivialities.

The best they had been able to do was to issue top secret orders to the military in the area transferring them to other bases. The Gestapo in Hammelburg handled their evacuation in the same manner, leaving behind non-essential personnel, so as not to raise suspicion amongst the local townsfolk, who simply figured the less seen of the feared agents, the better. No one saw any need to create a panic by alerting the civilians, and certainly, no one gave any thought at all to Stalag 13.

The field technicians finished the last visual check of the bomb and then raced away to the relative safety of the bunkers on the other side of the base. From there they would observe the detonation of the bomb. They were not as confident as the scientists about the outcome of the test, but like all the others, they knew better than to express any doubts. They valued their lives. One of them, a bright young man named Franz wondered just how many of the project's researchers had _not expressed their doubts_ in their research and had instead reported success…

 **7:55-8:00 a.m. Hamburg Airbase**

The scene inside the main bunker was controlled chaos as tensions mounted. The countdown was about to begin. Everyone was putting on their protective gear, as the effects of this particular weapon were unknown. There was no radiation or biologicals involved in this phase, but still, one could not be too careful.

The ground technicians were all huddled in a second bunker. Their gear consisted of goggles and jackets. Just as the countdown reached 30 seconds, Franz Langensheidt felt a sudden cold certainty race down his spine. He wished he'd had a chance to see Karl one last time…He raised his eyes towards the ceiling of the bunker and whispered, "Soon, Mamma…very soon." He crossed himself and shut his eyes as the world exploded around him.

 **8 a.m. Hogan**

It was a beautiful April morning in the camp. The weather was just about perfect, warm, but not hot. Hogan was sitting on the bench in front of Barracks Two. Nights were still cold, so the sunshine felt good; and he was enjoying lounging around for a change. The mission last night was a success and he had just sent Kinch down into the radio room to let London know that it had gone very well indeed. The only problem they had had was that Carter had gotten just a bit too close to the explosion and had knocked himself ass over teakettle when the TNT had gone off. He had a concussion but seemed to be much better this morning except for the slight headache. Hogan wasn't too worried, because Carter was always blowing himself up.

He had just stood up to go inside when he noticed a slight lurch in the ground. He frowned and stopped. There was a far-off rumble, sort of like thunder, but the air was perfectly clear. He shook his head and opened the door. He had just made it to the table, where LeBeau handed him a cup of coffee when the rumble suddenly turned into a roar as loud as any freight train and the ground began to shake. He knew instantly what it was, but had no time to shout a warning. _Earthquake!_ The world came crashing down on them as everything began to shake and the building collapsed around them. He heard screams of terror and the floor fell away underneath him. Hogan felt himself dizzily falling, and he realized he was in one of the tunnels underneath the building. He had only a moment to wonder if this is what death felt like and to contemplate heaven before his world went black and silent.

 **8:00 a.m. The "Outside Man" Returns to Camp— (Olsen's POV)**

I was on my way back into camp, the way we had planned when the earthquake hit. It was scary as hell, being in the middle of the forest with trees coming down all over the place and hearing people screaming in the camp. It sounded like the world was coming to an end, and at first I was sure it was. The shaking lasted for what felt like an hour, but I am sure was probably only about a minute or so. I just huddled down between a couple of big rocks, hoping nothing would hit me.

A big tree fell right next to me, and I was sure that was gonna be the end of me, but other than getting hit by one of the branches and getting scratched up some, I wasn't hurt. The good thing about that tree landing where it did was that nothing else landed there, and it kind of shielded me from getting hit by anything else. I stayed where I was for a while after the shaking stopped both because I was scared, and because I didn't really know what to do or where to go. I mean, basically I was pretty much in shock.

After a while I decided to head back to camp and see what I could do to help Colonel Hogan and the guys. The trails were all messed up and it took me quite a while to get back. I knew I was almost there when I came upon the POW cemetery. It had hardly been affected by the shaking, and I was glad to see none of the wooden crosses, even though some of them were tilted at crazy angles now, were actually broken. Even more amazing, the grassy area that we had planted a few weeks earlier hadn't even been touched! The grass was growing really well now, and it was so beautiful and green and—normal—I suddenly wanted to cry. Angry at myself, I shook my head and made a quick stop at the grass, and touched it for a moment, praying for luck…we were gonna need all we could get. I then continued my run to the camp.

I was almost to the stump when I realized the camp wasn't really there any more…I mean, some of it was, but most of it had been basically flattened. You can't imagine what that was like. I was looking at it, but I wasn't really seeing it, if you get what I mean. The air was full of dust and it was so quiet. Say what you want about life in a POW camp…it is NEVER quiet. This was quiet…deadly quiet at first…and then I could hear it…awful moans and cries…and guys screaming for help as I got closer.

The water tower was still standing somehow, but two of the guard towers had toppled over, and my own barracks was just a pile of boards and junk. That meant that Colonel Hogan and all the guys could be hurt or dead, or trapped! I knew I had to get in there to help them.

Those thoughts snapped me out of my shock. I ran down towards the camp. Some of the fencing was down because of the towers being down. There were guys, guards and prisoners alike, just kind of wandering around like they didn't even know where they were. I wasn't sure what to do, so I got one guy who looked like he wasn't too hurt to start rounding up everybody and having them sit down in an open clearing where nobody was gonna get hit by anything if we got an aftershock. The guy seemed glad of something to do, so I told him to count how many people he got together. Then I went to find Colonel Hogan.

I managed to figure out where Barracks Two used to be; and me and a couple of other guys started pulling boards and dirt off the pile of debris. It was a real mess. One of the guys held up a hand after a few minutes, and told us all to shut it. We listened, and sure enough, somebody was thumping a board or something inside! I grabbed a board and pounded back. We got an answering thump. A bunch more guys joined us on our pile, along with others who were working on other buildings. The destruction was just unbelievable. I had never seen anything like it in my life.

There were some buildings that were little more than splinters. It literally looked like a huge bomb had been dropped right in the middle of the camp. Everywhere there were guys pulling survivors, injured, and bodies out of the wrecks of the buildings. I got the feeling we were living in some kind of nightmare, but it was all way too real.

I looked up and saw Sgt. Wilson running across the compound, carrying a young guy toward the wreck that used to be the infirmary. Some guys were there making pallets for Wilson out of boards from the ruined rec hall. A couple of others were loading dead guys into wheelbarrows. I didn't want to even think where they were taking _them_.

Some guys were walking around, doing what they had to, trying to help, dirt and blood mixing with the tears running down their faces. I kept waiting for somebody to pinch me, to wake me up outta this nightmare, but it never happened.

 **8:15 a.m. Kinch Finds his Way Out**

Darkness…He was buried alive. There was nothing around him but dirt and wood. Carefully, he wiggled his fingers. Okay. He had air. Check. He could move his hands. Check. Then Kinch was determined that whatever else happened, he was getting the hell out of here. Slowly and carefully he began wiggling free of the dirt surrounding him until he could get a better idea of where he was. He had to do it mostly by feel, because it was darker than hell in the tunnel. He knew he had to be careful, because moving the wrong board could bring the whole thing down completely and then he really would be buried… permanently.

He felt around, hoping he could find the radio. By some miracle, it might be working. If nothing else, he might locate the flashlight he always kept on the desk next to the radio. He had lost the small pocket light he usually carried. He was afraid to try his lighter, not wanting to set off any stray gas pocket or spilled chemical from Carter's lab. _Oh, dear God…Carter's lab…right now it was just a demolition and chemical dump waiting to go up! Hopefully, it had been buried by enough dirt to neutralize it! What the hell happened anyway?!_

Thankfully, Kinch found what was left of the desk fairly quickly. It was clear the radio was shattered beyond repair. However, he had a bit of good luck. He found the flashlight fairly easily. The bright light was a great comfort in the darkness. He smiled, and breathed a quick prayer of thanks. Now that he could see better, he was appalled at the damage to the collapsed tunnel system. Parts were caved in completely. He was disoriented at first, and took him a few minutes to figure his way around. The tunnel towards the barracks was completely destroyed and probably impassable. The other tunnels seemed in much the same condition. The tunnel towards Carter's lab and the darkroom were also totally blocked. He searched quickly for the small "changing room" containing the ladder leading to their escape to the outside. He could only hope the tree stump was still intact.

The ladder was where it should be, though there were minor signs of collapse around it. Kinch took a deep breath and carefully climbed the ladder. He pushed on the cover of the stump entrance and was pleased when it moved. With his customary stealth, he stepped out of the slightly tilted stump, and into a world turned upside down.

Stealth was not necessary in the landscape that assaulted Kinch's senses. He sank to his knees as he saw the destruction around him. Trees uprooted and debris everywhere; and more than that, he could hear the cries and activity coming from the camp itself. There was smoke in the air, and it looked as if there was a bad fire somewhere towards Hammelburg. Around him, rabbits and other small animals were panicked as they ran for safety. "Dear God, help us," he breathed, as he rose to his feet and headed towards the wreckage of Stalag 13.

The first men he came across were those who had freed Schultz and who were now working to try to find Klink in the wreckage of the Kommandantur. The office and Klink's quarters were completely destroyed. It was a miracle Schultz had gotten out relatively unharmed. Langenscheidt had been stationed on the front porch, and had managed to dive free just before the porch crumbled. He had some scrapes and bruises, and a bad cut on his chin, but was basically unharmed. Hilda had not been in the office at the time, as she had been on vacation visiting some friends in Heidelberg. She had been gone for a week, and Carter had been driving everyone in Barracks Two crazy with his pining for his girlfriend, as the two had been carrying on a semi-clandestine relationship ever since Carter's accident the year before. Hilda had been one of the keys to his recovery, and their romance had blossomed ever since.

Klink was another story altogether. He had been trapped in his office, behind his desk. The heavy wood had pinned him up against the wall, which had then partially collapsed. The structure was very unstable, which was making rescue a very touchy situation. Kinch and Schultz together managed to pull down the plywood wall that was pinning Klink. From there it was a matter of pulling braces and other debris out of the way. Eventually, they were able to free the unconscious Kommandant and place him on the remains of his own bedroom door for transport over to the infirmary. Kinch headed immediately for Barracks Two.


	6. Trapped

**8:30 a.m. Hogan & LeBeau**

The next thing he knew, Hogan heard moans in the darkness around him, and his ribs hurt like fire, which let him know that at least he was still alive, and the question of heaven was going to have to wait a while longer. He shook his head to clear it, and immediately regretted the action. Carefully he tried his voice. "Louis?

There was no answer and he was not surprised. He gingerly checked to see what was still working. He was in pain, but could move fairly well. There was a lot of timber around him but he was not pinned by anything. He decided to try to dig his way out to reach his men. He tried again to call out to LeBeau; the man he figured was the closest to him.

"LeBeau, are you okay?" This time he was rewarded with a groan close by him.

" _Oui, mon colonel_. I am here. I don't know how well I am just now, but I am here. Are you all right?"

"I think so. Where are you?"

"I am pinned under the table. I think my arm is jammed between some boards. I cannot move it. It does not hurt much."

"Okay, I'm going to try to reach you. Just stay still and keep talking to me. I have to dig my way over there, so it may take a while."

"Oui, colonel. What happened?"

"I'm not sure, Louis. I think there was an earthquake, a big one. It had to be pretty bad to cause this kind of damage."

"I did not think they had earthquakes in this part of Germany."

"They don't. Sit tight LeBeau. I'll be there as soon as I can."

It was at this point that Hogan came to a sickening realization. He came across a body clad in a German uniform, and pierced through with pieces of a machine gun…the sort found only in one of the guard towers! Apparently, this man had been thrown from one of the towers which were hundreds of feet away. What did that mean for the rest of the camp? Had Stalag 13 even survived? He checked the guard's pulse. Nothing. He was able to feel around enough to find the guard's dog tags. His sensitive fingers were able to make out enough letters to know that this was not Langenscheidt, for which he was grateful. He figured it might be Schmidt or Frankel. Both were decent enough for Germans, and Hogan felt bad for them, but Langenscheidt was something of a friend to the men in Barracks 2, as he was posted directly under Schultz. Regretfully, Hogan murmured a prayer and pushed the body aside as he dug deeper towards his now quiet French corporal.

"LeBeau, talk to me. What's going on?"

"Sorry, Colonel. I must have dozed off. I am not feeling very well just now." His voice was weak and fuzzy.

Alarmed, Hogan practically shouted, "LeBeau, stay with me! What's wrong?"

"I think I am leaking something I should not be, and I am very tired. I would like to take a nap now, mon colonel…" LeBeau's voice sounded matter-fact as he trailed off quietly.

No matter what he tried, he could not get LeBeau to respond to him, and this scared him more than anything.

He dug faster, and finally made some headway because at last he could see some light…although it was murky and dusty, it was still light.

At last Hogan broke through to the surface inside the barracks. What he saw there froze his heart. Broken boards and debris was strewn everywhere. Not three feet away from him, sticking out of the dirt was a hand—encased in a tattered red sleeve—Louis LeBeau's hand! Hogan finished digging himself out as quickly as he could. He then went to his friend and quickly checked his pulse. He was relieved when he felt it beating strong and steady. Somehow, Louis was getting air despite the appearance of being buried alive. Hogan gently squeezed LeBeau's hand and was very happy to feel his friend feebly squeeze back. He redoubled his efforts, being careful not to disturb the beams in the area around LeBeau. Soon, he had uncovered his friend's head and shoulders. By that time, LeBeau had regained consciousness, and was attempting to move around some.

"Careful, Louis."

Hogan continued digging until he managed to free the other man. With some difficulty, Hogan was able to move him to a relatively clear space. He removed his jacket and shirt and tore his undershirt into strips to use as makeshift bandages. There was a bloody gash in the corporal's side, and Hogan did his best to wipe it clean, and stop the bleeding, although it didn't seem to be too serious. There was another shallow cut on his forehead, and apparently, this was the one that Louis had been referring to as "leaking." Hogan also wiped and bandaged this one, although he knew he would have to find a way to more adequately clean both to prevent infection.

For the first time, Hogan was able to take a good look around what was left of the barracks, and he was shocked. Most of the building was unrecognizable. Much of it had fallen into the tunnels below, or collapsed. He cringed, wondering how many men in the camp had been killed…indeed, he wondered if any of the other men in Barracks Two had survived.

He turned to Louis. "LeBeau, are you with me?"

Louis cracked his eyes and looked at him. " _Oui_ , Colonel."

"I have to find the others. Stay here. Don't move around. I'll be back as soon as I can."

" _Oui, mon colonel_. Do not worry. I am fine." He laid his head wearily back into the heap of dirt under him. "Let me rest a few moments. I will come and help you."

"You just stay where you are. I'll be back." He pulled on his filthy shirt and jacket. He found his battered crush cap lying in the debris, not far from Newkirk's own blue uniform cover near the table. He pocketed Newkirk's cap, praying he'd have the chance to give it back to his cocky corporal.

Hogan moved carefully across the wreckage. Judging by the table's location, he found the wrecked stove and figured out where the door should be, and therefore, where Carter and Newkirk's bunks had been. He started moving boards and plywood, and used a broken bowl to shovel dirt aside. Every few minutes he would call their names, as well calling for his other men, but he heard no one. Hogan figured they might have fallen down into the tunnel somewhere, although their bunks were not directly over the tunnel. The last time he had seen Newkirk, he had been across from LeBeau. He hurried as fast as he could, given the instability of the pile of debris.

The rescuers digging out Barracks Two finally caught a break. Olsen was pulling away some bracing near where the door used to stand, when suddenly he caught a flash of red. "Hold it, fellas!" He pounded on the beam near him. He broke into a grin when an answering pounding came back almost immediately, followed by a faint shout: " _Vive la France!_ Get us out of here!" The rescuers broke out into cheers and redoubled their efforts.

LeBeau moved up to join Hogan, moving aside some planks covering a footlocker. He was the one who caught a flash of light as some boards were removed from outside their prison. "Colonel, listen! Someone is pounding out there!" Hogan grabbed a board and pounded hard on the wall with it. The two men smiled at each other in relief. At least they knew there were others alive! LeBeau leaned close to the spot and yelled, " _Vive la France!_ Get us out of here!"

Resolutely, Hogan looked at his corporal. "Now, we have to find the team."

LeBeau nodded. " _Oui, mon colonel_. We _will_ find them."

Hogan made an instant decision. "You stay here, and work on getting out this way. I'm going to try to find Newkirk, Carter and Kinch. I think they ended up down in the tunnels somewhere. If you get out, start them on trying to find the boys."

"Oui, Colonel. You can count on me." Louis began moving debris carefully in the same area where the rescuers were working on the outside.

 **9:00 a.m. Newkirk—Thoughts in the Dark**

Newkirk found his thoughts straying to the girl he was in love with. The others would probably laugh, because he was the kind of bloke who seemed to fall in love with the wrong sort of girl every time he turned around. He had gotten himself into all sorts of trouble with several different girls since he had been here, and had even ended up in the cooler twice over them. But Leticia was completely different. He truly did love her.

She was a member of the Underground, and lived just on the other side of Hammelburg with her parents and three brothers. They were not aware of the romance, and would probably kill Newkirk if they knew. It was not that he was a bad'n, really… It was the fact that he was an Englander. While it was true her family was all members of the underground, and was all willin' to die for the chance to end the war; that didn't mean that they was willin' to see the only daughter in the family marry an ally, especially one with a job as dangerous as his. Which is why he'd been losing sleep over whether to propose to her.

He was sure she loved him, too, but she was also very young; only 19 to his 25. Yet he had never felt this way about any other girl in his life. He had always been something of a love 'em and leave 'em sort. He had never let himself get attached to anyone, because in his experience, attachment always led to pain, and to loss. Always. The only exception to this rule had so far been his friendship with Carter, and well, it was war. So, who knew how long that was going to last? No, it was better to simply hold tightly to his heart and move on…But there was something about Leticia that would simply not be denied…Newkirk was hooked for life, and his heart knew it.

Now he wondered if it was too late. What if she'd been killed in the earthquake? What if she were, even now, trapped as he was; or worse, hurt and afraid, perhaps dying? He should have followed his heart the last time they were together and proposed. He had even had a ring for her. It wasn't much, and he wasn't about to tell her how he had come by it. A young airman had broken up with his girlfriend just before passing through the camp and had used it as his stake in the all-comers poker game Newkirk ran.

Normally, Peter made it a policy never to accept sentimental jewelry of that type, but the airman was bitter and insistent that he would simply trash the ring anyway. So, Newkirk had given him his stake in the game and accepted the ring in exchange. He pocketed the ring and promptly forgot it for months, until Leticia had come into his life. And now, he might never see her again. He leaned his head back in the silent darkness, and for the first time in more years than he could remember, Peter Newkirk cried.

 **9:00 a.m. Andrew—Thoughts in the Dark**

Lying trapped in the dark, Carter began to drift…he was worried he would never see Hilda again. He was really glad now she had gone to Heidelberg, even though he missed her like crazy. He had never imagined himself falling for a German girl, but he knew he was falling hard for Hilda. He had even written to his parents a little bit about her, in Lakota, of course. They had even talked about the possibility of getting married one day, but they both knew that it would be terribly difficult even if the Allies did win the war. Besides, she wasn't sure she ever wanted to marry, not after what her father had done…deserting her family. She cared about him, but he wasn't sure she could ever trust him, or any man for that matter…

His mind skipped to thoughts of home and other girls he had known and automatically he remembered how badly it had hurt when Mary Jane had dumped him, and how he had nearly gotten permission to leave the operation. He knew he had made the right decision by not leaving, even though he was trapped and alone now. He tried to shut out his fears as he cast his mind back into his past.

He smiled as he thought of a girl he had nearly forgotten. White Feather! His first crush when he was a kid! She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had been eleven at the time and had been attending his first powwow at the reservation. White Feather was dressed in the traditional buckskin of their ancestors, as was he, Little Deer. They had spent many happy days at that powwow and on the reservation until her family had moved away a few years later.

He was always called Little Deer on the reservation. It was much harder for him to get used to speaking English and being called Andrew. His other language was actually Norske, as his other grandparents were Norwegian and he spoke Norske around them in their home. So, when he was sent to the mission school and was told he must only speak English, the _wasichu_ language, he had been very confused. He had also not understood why they wanted to cut his hair on the first day of school. Although he had the blond hair and blue eyes of his father's people, he had the heart and upbringing of his mother's people. His hair was long and braided in the manner of his people, a way called _hanskasun_. He had stood up to them, and though he, along with two other boys had been whipped, steadfastly refused to part with this sacred symbol of his people.

It was not until much later, when he had made peace with both sides of his ancestry, and decided to serve the country of his birth in a way only warriors could, that he went to his grandfather and asked him to cut off his _hanskasun_ , so that his mother might keep the braids safe for him. His grandfather, at first was silent, measuring the young man before him.

"You have recently completed your quest, and are now a man. What you do is good. I fear it will be a hard road you follow, but this path is yours. Death comes to all, and no man can avoid it by hiding in his home. Do not seek death, but do not hide from it. Be strong. You are a warrior. You have always kept your own counsel. This is good. It has made you strong. But _Wakan Tanka_ will guide you…do not be afraid to walk the path of the _wasichu_. It is a part of you, just as you are Lakota. I have seen that your _ciye_ … your closest brother among the brothers you will meet will be _wasichu_. You will always be more than what others believe you to be. This will be your strength. Remember my words, my son. Remember."

And with these words stirring in his sharp mind, his _thunkasila_ had cut off his braids and solemnly trimmed his blond hair even with the collar of his shirt without another word. Little Deer took the _hanskasun_ carefully into the house and quietly presented it to his mother, who cried silently as she folded and placed the long braids in a buckskin pouch and placed them in her vanity drawer.

She drew her tall son into her arms, knowing his decision had been made. "I am proud of you, Andrew Carter. It was the first time she had ever called him anything but Little Deer. We will wait here for you to return to us." He looked down into his mother's deep chocolate eyes and smiled. "Yes, momma, I'll come home, I promise." He lifted his chin, as befitted the warrior he was, and headed out to the recruiting truck, to finalize the paperwork he had signed the day before. And fifteen-year-old Little Deer had become Private Andrew Carter, Code Talker Trainee. And thus, the secrets began.

~TBC~

A/N: I have researched the Lakota words used in this chapter carefully, using several sources. I am unable to type the exact translations, as I do not yet own a Lakota keyboard. I have attempted to translate naturally within the story itself, by inference. _Wagan Tanka_ is Lakota for Great Father or Great Spirit. Please realize there are seven dialects and three different languages that make up the Sioux tongue. If I have made any translation errors, please forgive me, as I am just a beginning student.


	7. No Damned Hero

**10:07 a.m. Aftershock: The Rescuers**

The men had reached LeBeau, and were almost ready to free him when the first major aftershock hit. The ground shook and swayed with nearly as much force as the first tremors seven hours earlier. Most of the men hit the ground or backed away from the debris, trying to make sure they did not end up victims themselves. Olsen, on the other hand, did no such thing. He was the one closest to LeBeau at the time, and had no intention of losing the French corporal. He grabbed onto Louis and held on during the shaking, shielding the smaller man from the falling debris that surely would have killed him had Olsen not been there.

After a short time, the earth seemed to settle down, her tantrum spent for the moment. The rescuers scrambled back to their tasks. The men working at Barracks Two were shocked at the sight of an unmoving Olsen with a large support beam across his back, and a bloodied, wide-eyed LeBeau staring up at them from underneath both Olsen and the beam. "Hurry, _mes amis_. Help him!" Louis was frantic.

In only a few minutes, the beam was lifted from Olsen, and he was carried carefully over to Wilson. Foster had taken some pre-med courses in college, so he was acting as Wilson's assistant. Wilson knelt down next to Olsen, just as the young Sergeant opened his dark eyes. He tried to grin, but it came out in a grimace as the pain in his ribs and back hit him. Foster expertly removed Olsen's shirt, despite his protests; then took and reported his vitals to Wilson.

"Hiya, Doc!" he gasped.

Wilson smiled at his patient. "How's the pain, hero?

Olsen rolled his eyes. "I ain't no damned hero."

"I bet LeBeau would see things differently, Danny."

"Bull!" The young man stated flatly. "I didn't do nothin' for him he wouldn't do for anybody else. Ouch! Quit pokin' me, will ya!"

Wilson grinned at him. "Sorry, but the poking's necessary. Looks like you got away lucky. You cracked a couple of ribs, and pulled a few muscles in your back. You're gonna be sore for a few days, but it's nothing that time won't take care of. I'd tape those ribs, but I'm short on supplies right now."

"Geez, Doc, you're brilliant. I could'a told you that before you started pokin' me." Olsen flashed a lopsided grin as he gingerly sat up and put his shirt back on. He looked at Wilson speculatively. "So, you need supplies, huh? Well, if Newkirk's around, me and him can make a run into town and see what we can round up. We're both pretty good at keepin' away from the Gerries, and they got plenty of their own worries right now."

Wilson sighed. "Big problem with that, Danny. Newkirk, Carter, and Col. Hogan are still missing. Apparently, they're all somewhere inside the wreckage of Barracks Two. I can't allow you out on a mission without Col. Hogan authorizing it until I know his official status…then Kinch would be in charge."

Danny looked at Wilson, who was now tending to an unconscious LeBeau's wounds. "Then I guess I better go find the rest of our boys." And without another word, Danny Olsen stood and headed back to Barracks Two.

~TBC~


	8. In the Dark

**10:07-30 a.m. Carter—In the Dark**

Andrew felt the ground begin to move around him. He heard a cracking sound and something hit him hard somewhere in his middle. The pain overwhelmed him and darkness swirled around him. He knew nothing for a time…until he awoke, colder and in more pain than ever…Eventually, awareness came slowly…and even then, he was only half awake, sometimes talking aloud. There were many things that had been on his mind for a long time, and he began to pray, having simple conversations with His Creator, much as he had as a child.

 _God, It's me, Andrew. I'm really scared right now. I know you're always watching me, and that's supposed to make me feel better, but right now it doesn't. I hope you're not mad at me for that. Please don't take it personally or anything, but I just don't like being alone in the dark like this. Maybe the others might laugh at me, but I'm kind of afraid of the dark. God. That probably sounds funny, coming from a grown-up guy and all, but I can't help it. I just don't like dark places, especially alone._

 _Sometimes I wish I could be strong and brave like the other guys, like Newkirk or Colonel Hogan, but I'm not. I'm just not built that way. It's weird. Working with explosives doesn't scare me at all. Neither does the idea of going out on missions, or blowing stuff up or dying or doing any of the other stuff we do. Even getting caught doesn't really bother me. What scares me is the idea of being alone. I've had nightmares where the others get caught and I end up in a cell separated from them. I can hear them calling for help, but I can't do anything for them._

 _No one ever comes to help me get to them. I can't escape, and one by one, they eventually stop calling out for me…and I am completely alone…and I realize I always will be. That's usually when I wake up crying and trying to hide it. Fortunately, no one has ever caught me yet, although I think Peter's gotten suspicious a time or two. He's really the best pal a guy could ever have…I've been through some really bad stuff and told him about it, and he has never once said one word to anybody._

 _The other nightmares are even worse…the ones about being in combat. That was so much harder than anything we've ever done since I've been here with Colonel Hogan. Even getting blown up last year wasn't as bad as what I saw happen out there. It was just awful. I don't like thinking about it, so I guess that's why I end up dreaming about it._

 _When I went through the training to be a Code-Talker, me and Davy Running Horse, my other best friend, and the other guys had to work really hard. We went through the special training after we went through boot camp. They were really difficult because there was so much to memorize. I had it easier than a lot of the others because I've got this photographic memory thing You gave me. That's good, because I remember everything I read, but it's bad, too, because it also means that I remember everything I see._

 _A lot of Navajos had been sent to the Pacific Theatre, and they were the ones who had sent the most warriors, but there were a lot of tribes who had sent warriors all over. Davy and I both ended up in Germany. I was 15 when I went into the Army, and 15 ½ by the time I graduated from boot camp and code talker school. It's not as unusual as it sounds, because the military was desperate for code talkers, so they were taking anybody they could get at that point._

 _Being on the frontlines, relaying messages, all the bloodshed… that's where my nightmares really come from. Sometimes I still see things…_

 _I guess you know all this, God, and all about the other lies I've been telling, but I'm really sorry. I know what I do is important. I know I've helped save a lot of lives, but it doesn't make lying to my friends any easier. I am so tired. I know Col. Hogan would be so mad at me if he knew how I really got here; that I'm only 18. But I haven't been a kid for a really long time._ _I wanna survive this war, and go home. But if I don_ _'t—if this is really it, well, at least I've said I'm sorry for the lies I've told._

 _God, you know I had a good reason for what I did. I know that lives have been saved, so I hope that evens everything out. If not, well, I know you love me anyway, and I trust you to do what_ _'s right._ _So, I leave it up to you, God. I_ _'m tired. Thanks for taking care of me. And watch over Peter. I know he believes in you…he's just mad at You right now…but I can't get him to see that You didn't stop being his Dad just because_ he's _mad. His own dad wasn't very good to him, God, so give him time. He's just starting to learn to sing again…keep him safe. Thanks._

Andrew Carter felt another stab of excruciating pain, and then knew nothing more for a long time, and it was very dark, and he was very cold the next time he opened his eyes. He knew of only one thing that helped when he was afraid. He took a deep breath and began…

~TBC~


	9. Reunions

**10:40 a.m. Coping**

Slowly, Newkirk opened his eyes and became a bit more aware. There it was again. That Voice. It was muffled, but he recognized that voice from somewhere—didn't he? Either he was going crackers, or he was dying. And if he was dying, he probably wouldn't be hearing singing like that where he was most likely headed…so, what? Crackers, then? It was the dark doing it, or the blood loss, maybe…because that voice…wait. No, he knew that voice. God, he was so tired…he relaxed and just listened…

"…sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…" the voice faltered a bit and coughed. "I once was lost, but now am—" Newkirk was startled by the next words. "No, I'm NOT found God! I'm stuck here and I'm alone and I'm scared, and I'm afraid Peter's dead!"

Now he could hear Andrew's muffled sobs from somewhere near him. "I'm sorry I'm such a big baby God, but you know I hate the dark and I can't even move, so if I gotta die will you please hurry up. Just make sure to take care of Peter for me." There was an immediate frustrated huff. "I'm sorry for yelling." Newkirk's heart broke as he heard a shuddering breath and then— "was blind but now I see," as his best mate finished the song quietly.

Newkirk called out, "Andrew, hey, Andrew!"

Andrew opened his eyes. "Peter, is that you? Are you alright? Where are you?"

"Not sure, mate. Been out, apparently. Just opened me eyes, for all the good it does. Can't see a bloody thing. Dark as pitch."

"Yeah, me, too. I was afraid I was blind."

"Not unless we both are, mate." Actually, Peter could now see fairly well in the dim light, but he didn't want to scare Carter any more than he was already.

"What about you—are you okay?"

"Pretty banged up. I'm okay, but I don't think, I'm goin' anywhere at the moment, mate."

Carter must have been pretty bad off to miss Newkirk's obvious meaning. Because Peter Newkirk's left leg from the just below his knee down was crushed between their bunks and the floor of the tunnel. The bunks were jammed together and tilted at a crazy angle above him. And Andrew was caught between those bunks.

Not wanting to add to Andrew's worries, Peter tried to sound casual. "I heard you say you're stuck. Are you hurt, do you think?"

"Yeah, but I don't know where or how bad. Parts of me hurt a lot and parts of me don't; and I can't move at all. Your bunk crashed down on top of me so I'm kinda like the peanut butter in the middle of the sandwich right now."

Newkirk smirked. Typical Carter. "Could be worse, mate, you could be the jelly."

"Yeah, I kinda thought of that…. Do you think the others are alright?"

Newkirk considered. "I hope so. Still don't know what the hell happened. Somebody musta bombed the camp by accident."

Carter was quiet for a moment. "No, not exactly. I think it was an earthquake. A big one."

Newkirk was startled. "But I thought this part of Germany didn't get earthquakes. I remember that guy, Bigelow, in Barracks 10, you know Biggy, the one from California, sayin' that was the only good thing about bein' in this camp."

Carter coughed again and after a time spoke seriously. "Biggy was right. There never has been a really serious earthquake in Northern Germany. They mostly occur in the southwest region and most aren't terribly serious. A lot of them are set off by mining blasts in the area. I think something similar set this off."

Newkirk was confused. "A mining blast caused an earthquake that big?"

Carter's tone was dark. "No. A test of some kind. A bombing test."

 **10:50 a.m. Found: Taffy Matthews**

On the far side of Barracks Two, several of the rescuers had been digging away debris for a couple of hours when suddenly they detected movement. Tossing away a few more boards, they uncovered the very welcome sight of a much battered but grateful Taffy Matthews. He blinked rapidly in the sudden light. The first words out of his mouth were, "Anybody seen Olsen?" The two were bunkmates and had become good friends.

A laugh went up as someone handed him a canteen, and someone else went to find Olsen as they carefully extricated the chaplain from the wreckage. In a few minutes the friends were briefly reunited before Olsen hustled Taffy off to be checked out at the makeshift infirmary before returning to his own rescue duties.

~TBC~


	10. Dealing with Death

**11:00 a.m. Dealing with Death**

Sgt. Joe Wilson quickly realized they had a huge problem. At least half of the barracks had been flattened by the earthquake. His medical training, much more extensive than the Germans had realized, had quickly snapped into place after the initial shock was over.

There were many walking wounded, as well as more seriously injured people to take care of. The worst problem, in terms of infection and disease, was the alarming number of dead. He knew they were going to have to deal with these immediately, regardless of protocol or emotions. And he was only one man. And so far, not one of the command staff on either side had turned up.

In the meantime, he had a makeshift Infirmary set up in the shell of the old one, and he had a temporary morgue of sorts set up in the delousing station. He had been tempted to use the cooler, ironically one of the few buildings still intact, but he had a feeling they were going to need it, as he knew in situations like this, order would break down quickly. He turned his attention to another wounded man, hoping his meager supplies would hold out until he could scrounge more.

He directed one squad of volunteers to collect the dog tags of the dead, both German and American alike and record their names in a Red Cross journal he entrusted to a young corporal for the purpose.

Sternly he admonished them. "I do _not_ care who they are. You will work quickly and respectfully. Collect their personal effects and place them in the envelopes with their tag or half-tag for their family. If there is any looting, you will be court-martialed. I _will_ find out. Am I clear?" All the men nodded solemnly, as Wilson continued. "Give the other tag to Corporal Mills for recording. Thanks, fellas. Best get to it."

He directed another group to dig a large, deep trench on the outskirts of the camp. He hated to do this, but it was clear there was no other choice. It was a decision that was in the manual should disease decimate the camp and cause a large number of deaths at one time. Usually the decision would be up to the Kommandant and the Senior POW Officer in conjunction with the Senior Medical Officer; but since Wilson was the only medical authority available, he made the only sane decision he could to save those still alive.

The dead would be placed in the trench, and burned, thus killing any bacteria and cutting down on the chances of infection within the camp. He knew it would not be a popular decision with many, but it was medically the only decision he could make. He was praying Col. Hogan would be found alive and functioning –and soon, because he really, really needed him here to back him up.

Could the quake really have been only three hours ago? He checked his watch…yep, just a bit past eleven. He sighed and stretched his abused muscles. He had been one of the lucky ones. He had been outside when it had struck. He had been totally shocked at first that an earthquake could even strike here, but instinctively, he hit the dirt in the middle of the parade ground and prayed for all he was worth. After what seemed an eternity, the shaking had stopped, and he looked up to see the camp in complete chaos. And Sgt. Wilson had gone to work basically on autopilot. There had been a couple of aftershocks, but nothing nearly as powerful as the initial tremor.

Grimly, he chuckled to himself. He had been born in a poor neighborhood in Brooklyn. His mother had sent him out to live with an aunt and uncle in California when he was a teenager to give him a better chance…which he had latched onto with both hands. He had gone to medical school there. His mother had been terrified he would be killed in an earthquake out in California. While there had been a few good shakes, he had never been injured or even seriously inconvenienced by one. It had taken his being shot down and taken prisoner in Northern Germany for that to happen.

The only reason he had ended up in the army as a medic and not an officer was that he had not quite finished school yet. He had taken time off from school to go and help his mother after his father had died. Then, when Pearl Harbor had been attacked, his mother had moved in with her sister, and Joe had enlisted. And so here he was…dealing with massive casualties _from an earthquake_. And he was the only medic in the camp. Peachy. He was going to have to give a crash course in First Aid to some of his volunteers really, really quick. Providing they could scavenge enough supplies to even stock his cobbled-together infirmary in the first place. He badly needed back-up! _Come on, God, this is really not funny._

~TBC~


	11. A Bootcamp Story

**Andrew's Story: Boot Camp**

Peter realized that his friend was hurt pretty badly. He could tell by the strain in Andrew's voice. "So, Andrew, tell me a story. I know you have plenty of them."

"I probably told you all of them by now. Besides, I'm tired. I wanna go to sleep."

"Nope, lad. Can't let you do that. Tell me about boot camp. I always wondered if you Yanks had it as rough as we did in the RAF."

"It was probably about the same, but I do have a story about something that happened right after graduation. It started out as just a night on the town, and ended up being really awful."

"Yeah? Tell me."

And Carter let himself drift back to the night following graduation:

Andrew could not believe that he had let his friends talk him into getting a tattoo. He really didn't want one. He knew his grandfather would probably have a fit when he found out about it. He also knew that if Davy Running Horse hadn't been on sentry duty tonight, he would have come with Andrew, and they would have never come to this place. Of course, he was a man now, and it really was up to him what he did, but still… a tattoo was forever. Is this really what he wanted? And then, it was too late. The guy with the needles was there and he was getting ready to put the design on his arm. And his buddies were grinning like idiots at him. "No."

The man looked like he had grown a second head. "What?"

"No. I said no. I changed my mind. I don't want one right now."

The guy shrugged and waited for Andrew to grab his shirt before he beckoned his next customer into the chair.

As he rejoined his buddies outside the ratty tattoo parlor, Madsen, sporting a gaudy pinup girl on his chest, asked him why he'd chickened out.

"I didn't chicken out. It just felt wrong for some reason."

Another guy, Smitty, cuffed Carter on the back of the head, none too gently. "Whatever, dork!" He flexed his left bicep, showing off the rows of newly tattooed waves rippling there.

He said derisively, "Well, outta the seven of us that graduated boot camp and got passes tonight, you were the only one who was too chicken to get a tattoo! What kinda soldier does that make you, huh?!"

Carter said nothing, though he could feel his irritation building. The last he wanted was to get into in a fight and end up in trouble just after graduation. He still had a couple of days before he was scheduled to leave to spend two weeks with his family in Bullfrog, and he was not going to mess that up for anything. Unfortunately, Smitty and company had other ideas. If Madsen had left well enough alone and had not decided that Carter needed defending, things would have been fine.

Unfortunately, because Madsen was used to sticking up for younger brothers, he took immediate offense at Smitty's actions, and jumped on the bigger man, pulling him down and flattening the surprised soldier with a long, looping right. Carter tried to stop his defender, but it was much too late.

Fists flew in every direction as the group of soldiers quickly took sides in the melee. The only one not involved was the original victim. Carter stood back and watched his friends in disbelief for a moment. He then did the most sensible thing he could think of…he headed across the street and sat down on a bus bench, lit a cigarette, and watched the show from a safe distance.

Because they were in a town very close to the base, it took little time for the MPs to show up and break up the fight. As they were loading the bruised and cursing soldiers into the truck to take them back to the base, Carter spotted one of the MP's whom he knew quite well. "Hey, Greenie!" he hollered over at Sgt. Greenbaum.

"Hey, Carter! You made it, huh?"

"Sure did!"

"Going home?"

"Leaving in a couple of days."

"Great! Tell your Pa 'hi' for me. I wish I was still workin' for him instead of chasin' dopes like these guys around! You wanna ride back to the base? You can even sit up front 'stead in the back o' the truck!"

"You betcha! Thanks!"

Andrew rode back with Greenie, and left two days later for a long-awaited reunion with his family and friends in North Dakota.

To his shock and dismay, upon his return, he found out that every one of the other six men he had gone out with on the night of graduation had gotten very sick with an unknown disease and were being treated either in the base hospital, or, if they had gone on leave, in local hospitals. Carter was called into the base hospital immediately for a complete physical. Doctors were mystified as to why he seemed to be in perfect health. He was also, until he remembered something from that night.

He told the doctor examining him, "I don't know if it means anything, but we all went to the same tattoo parlor. They each got a tattoo, and I didn't. I started to, but I changed my mind and left. The guys mostly rode me pretty hard about it. In fact, they got into a fight, and the MP's came and broke it up."

The doctor's eyes lit up. He asked the young soldier, "Do you remember the name of the parlor you went to?"

"Yeah, it was "MacAvee's Ink Parlor. I think there's only two or three in town, anyway. The guys didn't want to go to Anchor Ink, 'cause that guy does mostly sailors. What's going on, Doc?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet, but if I'm right, you dodged a bullet that night, son. Literally. I think your friends may be in very serious trouble. I can't say more than that right now, I'm sorry."

"What, you mean like, they could die or something?!" Andrew was beginning to panic.

The doctor realized he had to calm the young man down, so he decided to be honest with him. He sighed deeply. "I need you to listen carefully. I shouldn't tell you this, because my colleagues don't believe in my research right now. I believe your friends were infected with a form of hepatitis when they got their tattoos. It has something to do with the needles that were used. * I don't know how much we are going to be able to help them. Some people get better, many don't. Most end up with serious liver damage. None of them will be able to stay in the army, I can tell you that much right now. They are all going to be very sick for a long time."

Andrew was stunned as he sat thinking… _brash, brave Madsen, with the house full of brothers who looked up to him; Lyons, the man who had planned to win the war single-handedly; and Smitty, hard, bull-headed Smitty, the one who seemed to believe he was invincible, that if he was tough enough…_

The doctor put his hand on Pvt. Carter's shoulder. "I'm sorry, son. So very sorry."

Carter looked up at the older man, unshed tears shining in his eyes. "Thanks, doc, me too."

Carter was silent for a while after telling his story, as was Newkirk.

For his part, Peter didn't quite know what to say. He finally said the only thing he could think of. "I'm sorry, Andrew."

"It's alright, Peter. I made my peace with it a long time ago. I know it wasn't my fault. And I learned to always follow my inner voice. There was a reason I thought about my grandfather when I was sitting in that chair, and it saved my life."

~TBC~

*The correlation between hepatitis and tattoos began to rise in the '40s but was not widely recognized until much later. I realize two weeks for the disease to begin to manifest itself may not be medically accurate, but it was necessary for the plot. Apologies.


	12. Peter's Story

**Peter's Story: Wandsworth Prison**

Both men were silent for a few minutes, and then Andrew asked the one question Peter had dreaded.

"What about you? How did you end up in the RAF anyway? You've never really said anything but that you got shot down over Dunkirk."

"Well, lad, it's not a story of which I'm proud, I have to tell ya."

"That's okay. I won't tell anyone, if you don't want me to."

"Col. Hogan knows, as I told him when he first talked me into joinin' his dog and pony show, but I just haven't felt like tellin' anyone else, 'cause the details ain't pretty, and I don't want to be givin' anyone any more reason not to trust me."

"But, Peter, we all trust you with our lives!" Carter was quick to protest.

Newkirk agreed, "I know that, lad. But would everyone be so quick to trust me if they knew I was not only a jailbird, but that I'd spent time in Wandsworth for murder?"

"What?" Newkirk's flat statement had momentarily stunned Andrew. And then, "But you couldn't kill anyone, Peter! I know you couldn't!" Andrew's voice was distressed.

Peter's chuckle was dark and sarcastic. "Andrew, we're at war. Of course, I've killed people."

Vehemently, Andrew shot back, "That's not the same thing and you know it. Tell me what happened."

Carter's tone made it clear it was an order, and Newkirk smiled in spite of himself. It wasn't often the Tech Sgt. pulled rank on the Corporal.

Newkirk settled back on his elbows, trying to get as comfortable as he could. It looked like he and Carter were going to be stuck for a while.

"Alright, Andrew, I'll tell you. But first, you need to understand. I _did_ kill the gent." As Carter started to protest, Newkirk cut him off. "Hear me out." Without realizing it, Peter's Cockney accent grew much thicker the deeper into his memories he went.

"It's true. I killed him, but it was self-defense. If I hadn't done what I did, 'e would've killed both me and the lady I was with for sure and certain. He was a bounder, that one…an' I was tryin' to 'elp when others said I should've stayed out of it. Turned out, they was right."

 _Right then Peter would've killed for a cigarette._

"I foolishly believed that evil was evil no matter what, and that it would be punished accordin'ly. See, I met this lady…and make no mistake, she was a real lady..."

Andrew smiled as he could hear the respect and something more in Peter's voice. "You loved her."

Peter nodded into the darkness. "In a way, I suppose I did. But it wasn't like that. She was genuinely a good person. And she never lied to me. We couldn't be together, because she was married and way too old for me. She didn't love him, never 'ad. But her parents had made arrangements, not realizin' what they were condemnin' her to. 'e was a monster, Andrew.

No one knew what 'e was because he 'id it very, very well. But I knew. She couldn't 'ide her sadness, or the bruises. And one day, when he'd been especially brutal, I took 'er round to the police station. It was a joke." Peter's voice was brittle with bitterness.

"They gave 'er a cuppa tea, and called 'er husband to take 'er home, to get 'er over 'er 'hysterics.' I was warned to stay out of other men's business. She was nothing more than property to 'em, even though they could see the bruises. Worse, 'e was a toff, Andrew, a wealthy and important man in London. And I was nothin' but a street kid with a record for petty theft."

"How old were you when this happened, Peter?"

"I was sixteen."

"So, the story about the circus?"

"Is true, it just 'appened when I was fourteen. I spent nearly two years with 'em, before I came back to London. Me da kicked me out the day I turned fourteen."

Andrew's heart broke for his friend, but he said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"Anyroads, as you can imagine, he wasn't pleased at being called down to pick 'is wife up at the station. Nor was he happy with me accusations. I was afraid he would hurt 'er even worse, so I did a very foolish thing. I followed 'em home, being very stealthy about it. I heard 'em arguin', so I carefully crept onto their balcony and peeked into their sitting room window. He struck her across the face, knocking 'er to the floor. She was bleedin, an' then she struggled to 'er feet, an' I just lost it. I broke through the window and got between them.

He pulled a gun out of a drawer and fired it at me. I drew me pencil sharpener and nailed 'im directly in the brisket with it. M'lady fainted promptly in the middle of it all. I didn't even realize he'd shot me in the shoulder until I woke up on the floor in a pool of blood with three coppers standin' round me.

Neighbors had heard 'im loudly threatenin' to kill the both of us. That, and M'lady's testimony that he'd fired first and that I was tryin' to 'elp 'er was the only things that kept me from 'angin'. The judge and jury wouldn't believe that I hadn't been tryin' to steal a 29 year-old-wife from a rich older 'usband."

"For cryin' out loud, Peter, you were 16! You were just a kid!"

Dryly, Peter replied, "And at what age is a boy considered a man in your tribe, Andrew?"

Carter sighed. "Okay, you got me on that one. So, what happened?"

"About what you'd expect. I got me 'fair trial' and was sentenced to twenty years in Wandsworth at 'ard labor."

Andrew gasped. " _Twenty years_?! Then how…?"

"'itler came along…and our beloved Winnie decided to conscript some of us 'ardcases. Luckily, me sister Mavis 'ad been makin' noises about the unfairness of me case for years. Me good girl finally got a personal audience with 'is Lordship an' presented me case to 'im 'erself! Next thing I know, I get a visit from the 'ome Office. 'Newkirk,' this toff says, 'sign these papers, joinin' the RAF, an' yer a free man, subject o' course to the King's pleasure fer the duration of the war! And after; me sentence gets tossed off me record.

But o' course, the RAF figures the Germans will get most of us first. It's also why I've never made it past Corp in all this time. I never will." The bitterness was heavy in Peter's voice. "If I desert, I get hung; if I get kicked out, or don't finish me service for _any_ reason, I serve out the rest o' me sentence. There was some as was against me gettin' out, but what ol' Winnie wants, 'e generally gets!"

Andrew asked, almost shyly, "How long were you in prison?"

"Six years, mate. It was 1940 when Winnie rescued me from Hell. I was 22. I turned out to have very fast reflexes, so after a short stint in boot camp and a few trainin' flights, I was flyin' a Spitfire. I flew some missions, me last bein' over Dunkirk. I ended up a guest of 'itler, and the rest, as they say, is 'istory. Was a damned shame about me plane, though. She was a fine ship."

Carter was silent for a long time. He thought about what Peter had told him. It was no wonder his best friend hated officers (except for Col. Hogan) and trusted almost no one. It made him sad to think of what Newkirk must have gone through while in prison…and now here he was in prison all over again!

Peter seemed to sense what he was thinking.

"Andrew…" No answer. "Hey, Carter!"

"Hhhmmm?"

"It's all right, mate. I'm okay. Like you said before, I made me peace with it a long time ago. Mostly I don't even think about it that much. It happened, and there's nothing to be done about it now. It's over. Just like what happened with your mates at boot camp, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so—it's just…I hate to think of something so bad happened to you, that's all."

"I know, and I appreciate it, but I did pick up some of me baser skills while I was there, and those 'ave come in handy on our missions; so, I suppose in an odd way, some good did come out of it after all." Newkirk chuckled darkly.

Carter smiled sadly. "Yeah, I guess so. Still…"

Suddenly, Newkirk cocked his head. "Hey, did you 'ear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Quiet! I hear someone!" Peter searched frantically for something to pound with. Unfortunately, he couldn't reach anything to pound with. "Andrew, can you bang on something? There's somebody near us. I can hear somebody moving around. Hurry, mate!"

Painfully, Andrew felt around for a board or something to grab onto. His hands weren't working very well, but Peter had asked him to try, and there was no way he was going to disappoint his friend. Finally, with his right hand, he found what felt like a piece of broken bunk brace. He gripped it tightly and hit the side of his bunk as hard as he could. The dull thump wasn't very loud, but it was the best he could do. He kept hitting it, using the pattern for "S.O.S." in Morse code. He would stop for a while between patterns, resting and listening for a response. The first few times, he was sure Newkirk had been mistaken, because he heard nothing. After the third set of letters, he was thrilled when he finally got an answer: "H-O-G-A-N. C-O-M-I-N-G."

Excitedly, he tapped out his and Newkirk's names to their commander and let his impatient friend know that help was truly finally on the way. Both of them were relieved and were finally able to contemplate the possibility of living through this disaster. They had no way of knowing that the hardest part was yet to come.


	13. Inside the Tunnel

**11:27 a.m. Second Aftershock: Hogan**

Hogan had made really good progress moving wood and dirt out of his way. He had found a part of the tunnel intact and was finally able to contact Carter. If he had it figured right, Carter was somewhere ahead of him and about five feet down and to the left. He wasn't sure about Newkirk, but apparently, he had to be somewhere near Andrew, because Andrew had given both their names. What Hogan really needed right now was some more hands to help him dig. He thought about going back up to check on LeBeau, but he hated to leave his digging. He decided to dig for another ten minutes, and then go up.

He figured he would grab some more wood to shore up the tunnel he was clearing out anyway. He was actually getting fairly deep an—The familiar shaking began all over again, only this time, he was inside the earth itself! Instinctively, he put the bowl he had been using up to his face to shield it, and covered his head with his arms the best he could. He felt the sickening sensation of dirt falling around him. He forced himself to remain calm and still as he waited out the tremors. As he did, he prayed for the men still trapped; for the rest of the camp, and for himself as well. It came down to a basic thought…" Dear God, please get us out of here alive!"

When the shaking stopped and the dirt stopped falling, Hogan groped around to see if he could figure out how much had fallen back into the tunnel. What he found amazed him. The aftershock had actually helped him, because the blockage in the tunnel ahead of him had partially crumbled, making it easier for him to pull away some of the boards and other debris that were in the way. He worked feverishly as he began to recognize some of the items. One of them was Newkirk's footlocker, which normally sat at the side of their bunks. As Hogan made his way around the footlocker, he spotted some cloth buried in the dirt. He pulled it out. It was Newkirk's striped nightshirt. The last time he had seen it, it was hanging on the end of his bunk, since the corporal hadn't quite gotten around to putting it away yet. Hogan knew he had to be close. Just then, the ground began to shake again, harder than before. He flattened himself to the floor of the tunnel and covered his head with his arms.

 **11:10-27 a.m. Aftershocks: Peter & Andrew**

To get their minds off the fact that they were both in pain and impatient now that rescue was imminent, Andrew started talking again. "Peter, do you remember the day we first started singing together?"

Newkirk smirked. "Yeah, mate, 'ow could I forget that? It was me what had the 'ead injury at the time. That's the only reason you snookered me into it!"

Carter chuckled. "Well, Sgt. Wilson told me I had to keep you awake, and I couldn't think what else to do… so I figured I'd sing. I didn't tell you to start singing _with_ me."

"You was singing _Irish_ songs. What choice did I have?"

"Well, I didn't know any English ones except for "London Bridge Is Falling Down," and that one's kind of dumb." Carter said earnestly.

At that comment, Newkirk couldn't help but laugh.

'Okay, lad, but where in hell did you learn 'Are You Right There, Michael?' I wouldn't think you'd be knowin' Percy French."

"I never met him, honest. But I went to boot camp with a guy from Ireland. He used to sing all kinds of Irish songs, and he taught 'em to me."

Newkirk snickered. "I see. Percy French was a famous Irish composer."

"Oh. Well, he wrote some great stuff then."

"Yeah lad, that he did, for an Irishman."

Carter absently began humming the tune to "Michael" and before he knew it, both he and Newkirk were off and singing that as well as several of the composer's lighter pieces. Carter couldn't help but giggle through Newkirk's rollicking rendition of "Phil the Fluther's Ball."

During the time they had been singing, Newkirk tried not to think about his leg. He knew since he was feeling worse, that Andrew had to be hurting badly. He had figured from the direction their bunk was lying, and where the tapping had come from, that Colonel Hogan must be behind them somewhere. He was unable to see Andrew, but he figured he was in big trouble. If he knew his commander, he would head for the bunks.

He began singing in earnest, trying to ignore the horrible pain coming from his left leg every time he tried to take a deep breath. He reached down, and realized that though there was blood soaking his trousers, there wasn't as much as he expected. His leg wasn't really bleeding that much, yet he knew it bore the full weight of the bunks. _Just what did that mean for his leg? And what would happen when rescue finally came?_

So far, Andrew had not questioned him as to why it was so dark or about the fact that he was lying at an odd angle. Peter figured there was a good chance that Carter didn't even realize that the bunks were sitting in a precarious position. Every time Peter looked around in the dim light, he was horrified by what he saw. The two bunks were so closely crushed together that Peter could not see Andrew at all. The bunks sat tilted at an angle, thankfully foot down in the tunnel.

The side crushing Newkirk's leg was angled partially on the floor of the tunnel. The head was pushing through the wreckage of the floor of the barracks. For the first time, Peter realized that if Andrew had not been sandwiched, he might have been speared by some of the floorboards sticking into the bunks themselves. Apparently, they were holding the bunks in place.

"Oh, blimey mate…" Peter breathed.

"What is it, Peter?"

Peter could have kicked himself. He hadn't realized he'd said anything out loud. He was trying to figure out how to answer his friend without scaring him when all hell broke loose again.

The earth began to shake and shift again, and Andrew screamed in pain and fear as the bunks bucked and suddenly dropped from their precarious perch. Peter could do nothing as he watched in abject terror as the bunks fell straight down. They didn't really fall very far, but mostly just shifted position and slammed to the bottom of the tunnel. His agonized scream filled the air as the edge of the bunk bit more deeply into his leg. The pain was unlike any he had ever experienced, even in Newgate, and he lost consciousness instantly.

 **11:30-35 a.m. Aftershocks: Reunion**

Hogan heard Newkirk's and Carter's screams and the sound of something heavy falling just as the ground had stopped shaking.

"Newkirk, can you hear me?"

"Carter? Newkirk? Can you hear me?! Guys, what happened?"

He dug faster and continued to call, but got no answer for a long time. Eventually, he heard Newkirk's weak reply. "Colonel 'ogan? You gotta help Carter, he's in big trouble!"

"Okay, I'm working on it. Are you okay?"

"No, sir…I really don't think I am, but you gotta take care of Carter."

Newkirk could hear the steady sounds of digging as he and Hogan talked.

It wasn't long before the welcome sight of his commander's crush cap and dirty face appeared in a hole in the dirt and rocks. Hogan grinned at his corporal, pleased to see the bruised and dirty face. He was unaware of his dire situation.

While he waited, Newkirk decided exactly how he was going to con his commander. He was pretty sure he was done for, so he wanted to make sure Hogan concentrated on freeing Carter. He figured a direct attack would be his best approach. He put on his best poker face and started talking the moment he saw his commander.

"Cor! Am I glad to see you! Yeah. M'leg hurts, but other than that, I'm okay. Carter's trapped and in bad shape. I think he's unconscious now. I haven't heard anything out of him since that last quake, when the bunks fell into the bottom of the tunnel. He was already hurt before that, but I don't know how bad. He didn't say. He did say he couldn't move much."

"Okay, just sit tight for a minute." Hogan crawled closer to Newkirk. He was terribly worried about his trapped sergeant, but he needed to check on Peter, to see what shape he was in first. Hogan finished clearing a hole big enough to crawl through and pulled himself over next to Newkirk.

"Sir, we need to help Carter!"

"I know, and we will…but I need to check you out first. "

"No, sir…please. Check on Andrew first."

Hogan looked at Newkirk for a long moment; then nodded. He made his way around Newkirk to try to check out the demolitions expert. His heart sank. He saw no sign of Carter and heard no sound. He called out to him.

"Carter, can you hear me? Carter, it's Colonel Hogan! Andrew Carter, can you hear me?" Nothing. He leaned in closer and began carefully feeling around the edges of Andrew's bunk. At last he found a spot that was a bit wider than the rest. He was able to slip his hand all the way into the space. He felt around until his fingers came into contact with cloth, and then suddenly his hand was caught in a death grip!

"Andrew! I'm here!"

"Oh, God, Colonel, don't let go! I'm scared!"

Hogan spoke in a soothing tone. "Andrew, it's okay, I'm here now. We're gonna get you outta there. I need to go help Peter right now, okay?"

Instantly Hogan's hand was released. "What's wrong with Peter?"

"He hurt his leg, and I just want to check it, alright? I'll come back when I'm done."

"Okay, I'm alright, Colonel."

Hogan shook his head, amazed at the courage and dedication these two friends had for each other. They both willing put aside their own fear and pain to make sure the other was taken care of first. "No greater love than this…" or words to that effect, Hogan thought. These two were truly brothers in every way that counted.

He made his way carefully back to Newkirk. He was trapped at an odd angle, in that his left leg was crushed under the bunks from just below his knee down, yet his right was free. He was pressed up next to the right side of the lower bunk.

Hogan ran his hands quickly over Newkirk's arms and checking his head and face. Other than some cuts and major bruises, he seemed okay. He ran his hand slowly down Peter's right leg, and found no problem.

He asked Peter, "This may sound like a dumb question, but with your leg, how much pain are you in?"

"Actually, it doesn't really hurt all that much. It's mostly numb."

"That could be a problem…. Especially since it seems you've lost quite a bit of blood…your trouser leg's soaked up some of it, but I don't know how much."

Peter reached down, felt his leg and realized there was a lot more blood than before.

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"Colonel, can you get out of here and get help for Carter?"

"I imagine they've probably gotten LeBeau out by now. But we— "

"No. Listen to me. He needs help now. Help me put a tourniquet on me leg. You know as well as I do that with all this dirt, I'll probably lose it anyway…I may even be dead for all we know. I can wait. That kid deserves every chance we can give him. Colonel, earlier he was talkin' a lot. I didn't understand most of it, but I did get one thing loud and clear. He's not as old as we thought. He was mumblin' somethin' about bein' recruited and bein' in combat back in 1940 and that you'd kill him if you knew he only just turned 18!"

"What? He came here a year-and-a-half ago… at 16?! I'm gonna kill somebody in London!" Hogan was seething. He was so angry; he forgot where they were for a moment.

Newkirk smiled at "Papa Bear's" protectiveness. "Colonel, you're gonna have to kill 'em later, after we get him outta here."

Hogan smiled grimly. "You're right." He pulled off his belt, and carefully wrapped it around Peter's thigh and cinched it tight.

Peter groaned at the pain, "Oh, bloody hell," he mumbled.

"Sorry, Newkirk." There was real regret in Hogan's eyes. "Oh, I have something of yours." He handed the Englishman his flight cap.

"Thanks mate." Newkirk placed the cap back on his head.

"I'm gonna open a spot so you can talk to Andrew, then I'm gonna rig a shelter over you, just in case we get another aftershock."

He widened the opening for Newkirk and then put together a crude shelter of plywood and bracings right next to Andrew. It wouldn't provide a lot of shelter, but it was better than nothing. Hogan made sure Newkirk was okay, and then got ready to head to the surface.

Though the effort of shifting around cost the tough Londoner greatly, Newkirk pushed his arm inside the bunk opening. Hogan was sure Carter had his hand in that death grip of his. He could hear Newkirk reassuring his friend. Hogan hurried to get the rescue started.

~TBC~


	14. Freedom for Hogan

**11:40 a.m. Hogan: Freedom**

Hogan made his way back to where he had last seen LeBeau. Sure enough, he had been rescued, and the welcome sight of Olsen, Kinch, and several other men met his eyes.

"Hey, Colonel" Olsen hollered. "Good to see ya! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm in one piece, more or less."

"What about the guys, are they okay?" Kinch addressed his commander.

"Newkirk's trapped and crushed his leg really bad; Carter's trapped between the bunks. He's hurt, but I don't know how bad. We gotta get 'em both outta there fellas. I haven't seen anybody else. How's LeBeau?"

Olsen fielded this one. "I just left him. Wilson's taking care of him. Looks like he's gonna be okay."

Hogan sighed. "Great. Thanks, Olsen." He stepped out and down to about where the bunks were located. He pointed to the spot where he figured Newkirk and Carter where located. "I tunneled through to where the guys are trapped, but it's pretty well caved in and very unstable."

He paused before giving the men the bad news about their comrades. "Newkirk's leg is so bad, there's a good chance he may lose it if he hasn't already. We'll need to get a door down there under him to lift him out. I have a feeling we're gonna have to get that side of the bunk lifted up somehow to get him out of there, and we're gonna have to work fast."

He held up his hand against any protests and continued. "Carter's been trapped between his and Newkirk's bunks for a long time. He's not able to move at all apparently, and I couldn't get a read on exactly how badly he's injured. He's been drifting in and out of consciousness. I thought it only fair to let you know what we're up against."

The men were silent for a moment as they considered the colonel's words. Then Olsen summed their feelings up as he gave Hogan a determined look. "Okay, so this thing's a bitch, Colonel. Let's go."

And he turned on his heel and grabbed a piece of plywood off the pile and tossed it away. Silently, all the men followed Olsen's example. As they worked, Hogan realized that the group consisted of both prisoners and guards alike. No one cared which was which. They were simply men doing a job, trying to free trapped comrades. They would do the same for anyone regardless. And Hogan knew then the mettle of the men he found himself in this camp with. Enemy or Allied…they were men first…in every sense of the word. And he was suddenly proud of them all.

The ground was quickly cleared. Carefully, they dug out the tunnel and found the top of Newkirk's bunk. Meanwhile, Hogan had gone back through his original tunnel, to take a canteen of water to his trapped men, and to explain to them what was happening. He also wanted to make sure the digging was not going to cave in the area over Newkirk, as well as check on him. He found he was becoming groggy despite his best efforts to stay awake... This worried Hogan. He got Peter to drink some water. He then went and checked on Carter.

"How ya doin' Andrew?"

Quietly, Carter replied, "Not so good, Colonel."

"Hang on, son. It won't be much longer. The guys are up there, right now. They're digging down here. We're gonna get both of you out of here."

"Peter's acting really strange. I can't get him to tell me what's really wrong with him, and he's stopped moving around."

"I know. I won't lie. He's in bad shape. Listen, I'm gonna hand you a clean wet rag. I can't fit the canteen in through that crack, so the rag will have to do. Suck on that to get some water."

Listlessly, Andrew replied, "Okay, Colonel." Hogan handed him the rag, and then told him he was heading up to help with the digging. He received no answer, and expected none.

Upset, he handed Newkirk the canteen and headed for the surface.

Usually a master at hiding his emotions, this time they were written all over his face as he emerged from his makeshift tunnel. The Barracks Two rescuers all stopped, alarmed as tears ran freely down his face.

Kinch asked, "What's happened, sir?"

Hogan shook his head and wiped his face, annoyed with himself. "They're alive. Sorry I scared you. It's just they're not doing so good. I think Newkirk's giving up."

Startled, Olsen's jaw dropped. "Newkirk? Oh, hell, no! I am not gonna let that Limey bastard die. He still owes me twenty bucks!"

Kinch nodded. He was more perceptive than most people gave him credit for. "And Carter is way too young to give up now. Colonel, we've got the bunks uncovered. We should be able to see Peter soon. We've got the door ready. How about we tie ropes to the top bunk and have some guys haul on it so that we can pull Peter out from under the bunks. That way we can get him the hell out of there and then get to Carter."

Hogan thought a moment. "That should work to get Newkirk out, but we'd have to have a crane to haul it all the way out. No, I think we're gonna have to just pull it apart to get the top bunk off him. It'll be tricky, but I think we can do it. We need some tools."

Olsen said, "Some of the guys are already trying to salvage what they can from a couple of the storage sheds. A few of them are still in decent shape. Wilson sent them over to see what they could find. I know they found some cots."

Hogan nodded. "That's good. Keep digging through here. I' m gonna go check in with Wilson and see where things stand. I'll be right back. By the way, I haven't heard the dogs. Anybody know where they are?"

Kinch shook his head. "The kennels are empty. The fences collapsed, and the dogs all took off, so there's no telling. They probably headed back to Schnitzer's."

Hogan nodded. "That would make sense."

He pointed out a couple of the men. "You guys go see if you can help get the tools together. We need to get our guys out of there as soon as possible." The men nodded and headed across the camp.

Hogan headed to the crude shelter that had been set up to house the Infirmary.

~TBC~


	15. Bitter Reality

**11:50 am: Bitter Reality**

Hogan took the opportunity to look around the camp as he walked towards the infirmary. He was sickened by what he saw. Everywhere he looked, it looked as if a giant had swept his hand around and knocked everything to the ground. There were almost no buildings standing at all. And those standing were tilted and torn apart. The Rec Hall was still partially standing, as were a few of the barracks. The Kommandantur was leveled as were almost all of the outer barracks. He could see that the Mess Hall was heavily damaged and had nearly completely collapsed. There were cracks all over the ground, and downed trees everywhere. He laughed bitterly when he realized the cooler was perfectly intact.

He made his way over to the infirmary, where both Wilson and Foster were fighting a losing battle trying to keep up with the stream of wounded men. They were doing the best they could with what they had. Wilson knew he would soon have to have more supplies or simply stop treating the men.

He was never so glad to hear his commander's voice as he stepped inside the ragged tent. "Joe, how's it going?"

"Damn, Sir, am I glad to see you! Are you okay? Let me check you out."

"No, Joe, I'm fine. We have a serious situation across at what's left of Barracks Two. Carter and Newkirk are trapped and in very bad shape. I need you to take a look at Newkirk as soon as possible. I'm thinking we probably have an amputation on our hands."

Wilson paled and shook his head. "Colonel, I'm not qualified. I've seen one done, but never done it myself!"

Hogan's eyes hardened. "I understand that, but if it's as bad as I think it is, it may be the only way to save Newkirk's life. There's no way to get a doctor from Hammelburg in time. Besides, we have no Underground doctor since the Gestapo arrested Dr. Schmidt. Any German doctors are going to be busy with their own people. Joe, you're all he's got. I don't know about Carter, because he's still trapped between two collapsed bunks, but he didn't sound good at all when I left them."

Joe sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He then turned to Foster. "Thomas, can you handle things here for a while?"

Foster looked steadily back at his friend. "Of course, I can. You go and do what you have to do." He then picked up a canteen and knelt down next to a wounded man. "Here, drink. It'll help."

Wilson grabbed his medical pack and an i.v. set up and bags of plasma and saline. He and Hogan hurried to where the men had finally uncovered the bunks and had dug down to where Newkirk lay under the makeshift shelter. He was nearly unconscious when the two men reached him. Wilson's heart sank as he examined what he could see of the damaged leg. Even with his lack of experience, he knew Hogan was right. As he set up an i.v. and hung it off the bunk he also realized he didn't have the supplies or equipment to save either one of his friends.

 **12:00 p.m. The Outside Man Leaves Again**

Olsen jumped down into the space next to them. His eyes were as dark and as serious as Hogan had ever seen them. He looked at the two men. "What do you need? I can get it for you. Me and Taffy'll take a jeep into town. I know where to grab the supplies. Langensheidt can drive, so no one will say anything. The German corporal, who had been moving debris with them, nodded silently. Apparently, "sides" and "ranks" meant nothing anymore. Wilson nodded grimly, but cautioned them, "You must hurry, but you _must not_ get caught. Newkirk cannot wait, and there's no telling what shape Carter is in. I'll give you a list of what I need. Do your best to find these things. If you can get to Frau Schmidt, she may have much of what you need, since her husband's office was a fully supplied surgery, and she was saving everything for me to use here. But above all, you must hurry!"

Hogan looked at the three. "Commandant Klink is still unconscious. I'll take responsibility for sending you out of camp."

Without hesitation, the three men nodded and headed to find a jeep. A few minutes later, they carefully drove out the gates and to the road.

 **12: 30-45 p.m. Newkirk's Rescue**

Kinch and the others had worked out tying the ropes on the top bunk in order to pick up the one side. After that it was just a matter of applying a combination of brute strength and leverage in order to raise it high enough to free Newkirk. The brute strength came from the group of prisoners and guards up top, and the leverage was applied by Fitz and a long piece of pipe he had found. Wilson had given Newkirk a small amount of morphine to ward off the worst of the pain. He didn't want to give him too much, because of the anesthesia he was planning to use later. Between them, Colonel Hogan and Wilson were able to gently pull Newkirk out from under the bunk once it was finally raised high enough. It was gently lowered so Carter would not be jarred too much. Despite the morphine, the pain overwhelmed Peter immediately.

Hogan and Wilson rolled the now unconscious Newkirk onto the door. Wilson quickly tightened the tourniquet as the bleeding began again in earnest now that the pressure had been released. The injury to his leg was every bit as severe as they had feared. Hogan was horrified to see that the mangled leg was not only crushed, but nearly severed below the knee as well. Wilson expertly applied pressure bandages to the wounds to stanch as much of the bleeding as possible. He then wound more heavy bandages around Peter's leg.

Hogan and the others set about moving Newkirk to the infirmary and freeing Carter from his wooden prison. Newkirk, as weak as he was, woke briefly, protesting at being moved before Carter. "I have to stay with me mate. He needs me."

He batted feverishly at the hands around him, trying to chase his rescuers away. Finally, Hogan knelt next to him. Gently, he placed his hand on Peter's shoulder. Quietly he spoke into his ear. "Peter, it's okay. They're getting ready to bring Andrew out, right behind you. But we need to move you first, or we can't get to him, okay?"

Newkirk's green eyes fixed hazily on Hogan's brown eyes. His voice was cracked and raspy, but clear enough. "Promise me, Colonel." He gripped Hogan's hand tightly.

Hogan looked at him questioningly. "Promise you what, Corporal?"

"Just, promise me, that's all…" Newkirk was fading and they both knew it. And Hogan knew what Newkirk was asking.

Hogan nodded and smiled gently, "Of course, I'll take care of Andrew, Peter; but he's a lot tougher than he lets on. He's gonna make it, and so are you. Now we gotta get you outta here." Newkirk's green eyes slipped shut then, and Hogan prayed fervently it wasn't for the last time.

The others continued to work on tearing the top bunk away from Carter, as Hogan, Wilson and the others headed over to the infirmary. When they got there, their focus was entirely on replenishing the young corporal's blood supply. Foster expertly established another intravenous line to supply him with whole blood, almost before those transporting him had settled him onto one of the cots that had replaced the pallets.

 **1:00 p.m. The Infirmary**

Hogan and Fitz left to help with Carter. Others were moving around inside the small tent, trying to do their best to help wherever they could. Some of the wounded were getting up and making room for others, as there was not much to be done for them medically and there was much work to be done.

Newkirk was not a rare blood type. The difficulty was simply that he had lost a large volume of blood and they were going to need a large number of donors.

Carter, was type O-, typical for an American Indian. * This was good, because it meant he was also not a rare type. Some Indians had extremely rare types, and Wilson felt fortunate he would not have to deal with that in this case.

Wilson hoped his records could be salvaged. Otherwise, he was going to have to check with each survivor individually, and start new records on each of them. For a moment, Joe was monumentally overwhelmed by the situation. He shuddered, then immediately felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked into the sympathetic eyes of Thomas Foster. "Joe, something good has happened, though."

Joe ran his hand tiredly through his hair. "Yeah, and what's that?"

Thomas smiled. "Well, two things actually. Colonel Klink woke up a while ago, and he seems to be fine. The other thing is that if you look around, it seems as if everyone has forgotten which side of the war they're on. The prisoners and the guards are cooperating with each other without even thinking about it. There was an aftershock, and I watched a prisoner automatically cover two wounded guards with his own body without any hesitation at all."

Wilson smiled back. "Yeah, Thomas. I've seen this before. It's a good thing, but it's kind of sad that it takes a disaster like this to bring people together. He tipped his head. "What's that I smell?"

Thomas grinned, "LeBeau is doing what he does best. I believe he may have finally found a way to bake some potatoes…Heaven knows we have plenty of those!"

 **1:10 p.m. LeBeau's Kitchen**

LeBeau was one of the patients who had decided to leave the infirmary after his wounds had been tended to as best they could be. He had somehow liberated a large cooking pot and some supplies from the wreckage of the Mess Hall and the Bakery. It was not safe to cook inside either building, and the gas had been turned off to both, so he had contrived to build a fire in the clearing near the infirmary tent. He had found some tinned chicken and had added a bit of this and that until now he had a large pot of chicken soup simmering on a grate, as well as a vat of coffee, again scrounged from only he knew where. There were several battered tin cups next to him, and the little French chef was doing a brisk business already.

He had pressed a couple of men into contriving an oven and a grill for him, as well as sending a few others on a scavenger hunt for food, supplies, and utensils all over the camp. He had also used the old trick of baking potatoes by wrapping them in tinfoil someone had liberated from the camp kitchen, and burying them in the coals. He had also had sharpened some sticks, so they had some roasting utensils. A few of the camp cooks were helping him put together the evening meal. A couple of the guards had gone hunting for some of the numerous rabbits in the immediate area. It was doubtful the survivors would starve before help came.

~TBC~

*This information comes from The American Red Cross website on Rhesus Factors and Native American blood types.


	16. Rescuing Carter

**1:25 p.m. The Infirmary**

Back in the infirmary tent, Wilson and Foster were working over Newkirk, who had become delirious with fever; a sure sign that infection was setting in. "I just hope the boys were able to contact Frau Schmidt. We need those supplies. I don't know how much longer I can keep Newkirk going."

Foster wiped their patient down with a cool, damp cloth as they talked. "Any idea what shape Carter's in?"

"Not yet…they still haven't— "

At that moment, a shout went up at Barracks Two. "Got it! Careful, Fellas!" They could hear Hogan shouting orders. Wilson grabbed his field pack and ran over to Hogan. He could see that they had finally gotten the two bunks separated and they had access to Carter at last.

Wilson jumped down into the pit and immediately began assessing the young sergeant. After so long in the dark, Carter shut his eyes painfully against the glare. He was frightfully cut and bruised, and there was dried blood everywhere, including his hair, and some that wasn't dry all over his shirt. He was suffering from hypothermia and shock. Wilson hollered up to some of the nearby men, "I need some blankets, quick! There's a few in the infirmary. I know there's some in one of the storage sheds. Get me whatever you can find, fast!"

 **1:30 p.m. Schultz: The Guard's Storage Shed**

Schultz, who had been helping to clear some debris nearby, overheard. He turned to the men. "Come with me. I know where we can find some quickly."

Without another word, he led them off double time toward the back part of the camp. He took them into an area no prisoners were ever allowed: the guard's barracks. It had actually held up better than some parts of the camp and had a couple of buildings that were relatively unscathed. This included one of the storage buildings. It was to this building Shultz led them. Carefully, he unlocked the door, and stepped aside to allow the men access to anything they needed. He followed them in and began piling blankets together.

Quickly, they gathered whatever they could carry, and headed back to the infirmary. He also had some of them carry a number of folding cots they found. Among their other prizes were two large cases of German chocolate bars. Schultz handed to his helpers. Tersely he said, "Perhaps the chocolate will do my boys some good. Let's go."

He relocked the door, and carefully put the key back in his pocket. One of the men glanced at him, and he shrugged. "No use to invite looting." Schultz gave the man a long hard look. The prisoner nodded. The men hurried back to Wilson.

 **1:45 p.m. Carter's Rescue**

In the meantime, though Wilson was wishing Carter was unconscious, he was having no such luck. Carter was awake and badgering him about Newkirk. He wanted to know where his friend was and what condition he was in. Wilson didn't want to tell him. He didn't want to lie, and yet he knew Carter wouldn't settle down until he knew what was happening.

Desperately, he looked up to where Hogan was directing the mechanics of getting Carter free. "Colonel…"

Hogan took one look at the situation and figured out the problem immediately. He jumped down into the pit and knelt down next to Carter. "Hey, Andrew, how ya doin'?"

"Okay, I guess, but where's Peter? What happened to him? Wilson won't tell me."

Hogan took a deep breath. He knew the two men were like brothers, and that lying to either of them would do no good.

"He's in the infirmary. His leg's in bad shape, Andrew. He may lose it."

Andrew set his jaw. "He can't." He stated firmly.

Hogan looked at Carter, startled at the determined look on his face. "Andrew, there may not be a choice. He's lost so much blood already, and there's a good chance infection's already set in."

"NO."

"Andrew— "

"Colonel, you don't get it, do you? If he loses his leg, the RAF will send him back— "

"Yeah, Carter, they'll send him home."

Carter glared at Hogan. "No, Colonel, they won't. They _won't_. Think. You KNOW where they'll send him!"

Hogan suddenly got where Carter was going with this train of thought. "No way, Carter! There is _no way_ they would put him back— "

He broke off as he realized the others around them not only had no idea what they were talking about; but also, the last he had known, Carter hadn't even had any idea of Newkirk's darkest secret. And then he suddenly realized that Wilson was giving him a murderous stare.

"Andrew, we have to get you out of here. We'll worry about Peter later. Olsen and some of the others are trying to get some medical supplies to help him. Now, let us help you, so Wilson can get back to Newkirk, okay?"

At the mention of Wilson's needing to be with Newkirk, all the fight went out of Carter, and he quieted enough for Wilson to examine him. Wilson removed the young man's shirt, and they were all shocked by what they saw. There was a metal shelf mount sticking through his side, pinning him to the thin mattress underneath him. This was the source of the still-not-quite dried blood on his shirt. Carter himself couldn't see it, because a board next to him was preventing him from turning or lifting his head. The shelf itself—probably his own-had been pinning his left arm and leg to the mattress and was one of the last things to be moved off of him after they had moved Peter's bunk off of him.

Wilson stepped back and spoke quietly to Hogan and the others. "You want the good news?"

Grimly, Hogan glanced at Wilson. "You mean there is some?"

"Actually, a little bit. The place where the metal went in is one of the few spots where there's no vital organs. Also, he didn't bleed to death because the metal plugged the hole. The bad news, we don't dare move him off that mattress with that metal in him, because if it shifts, it could hit something vital. I can't tell without x-rays."

"Well, we can't just leave it in him!"

Wilson looked at Hogan balefully. "Of course not! I do plan on taking it out, but it's gonna be very risky, and it's gonna hurt like hell. I need an assistant, a box of wooden matches, a pair of pliers and a gun."

"What?!"

"Well, actually, I don't need the gun, I just need some bullets."

It took a few seconds for Wilson's plan to click into place for Hogan. He had heard of battlefield cauterizations before, but had never witnessed one. "Ah."

Hogan nodded and left to get what Wilson needed. He was back in just a few minutes, bringing with him the requested items as well as a basin, a pitcher of water, and some soap that Foster had sent over.

Wilson looked at the others gathered around him. He spoke quietly. "I need to cauterize both the front and back. We'll do it in two stages; turning him on his side, cauterizing his back only if needed, then pull it out the front and cauterize the front. The heat from the exploding gunpowder will not only stop the bleeding, but will sterilize the wound as well, until I can get in and clean it properly. This way, we can move him without the metal endangering his life."

The other men were appalled by what they were hearing. Kinch looked at Wilson. "Why couldn't you have done that for Newkirk?"

"Several reasons, Kinch. He has a completely different kind of wound. The muscles and tendons in his leg are torn, as well as the fact that he has a crush fracture in the area of his ankle and shin. Basically, his leg is crushed. The tourniquet was the best thing that could have been done for him. If his leg had actually been completely severed at the time, then maybe, but only maybe, cauterization would have been the answer, but it would have had to have been done right away, and with something large, like a shovel or the side of a sword. That's how they did it back in our great-great-granddaddy's day." Several of the men paled visibly at Wilson's words.

Wilson had some of the men roll up blankets so that Andrew could be transported lying on his side in case they had to repair a wound on his back. The other blankets, Wilson and Hogan gently placed over Carter's legs.

Hogan looked at Wilson. "Why don't you set up, while I talk to Andrew?" Wilson nodded.

Kinch looked at Fitz and a couple of the other men. "Why don't we go see if we can get the back-up generators working? They're gonna need lights soon. Maybe we can even get a couple of the tower lights working. One of the guards, Stiegel, spoke up. "I know where they keep some spare parts for the generators…I will show you." The men hurried off.

Hogan came back and knelt beside Carter. More of the debris had been moved off and from around him, and he could move a bit better, though it was obvious he was afraid to. The boards were away from his face now, but he hadn't looked down. Hogan took the young man's cold hand in his own. Carter looked at his commander, with such trust in his eyes that it nearly broke Hogan's heart. "What's going to happen next, sir?"

"Andrew, you know you're hurt pretty bad, right?"

"Yessir. I figured that out a long time ago. I wasn't exactly sure what was wrong, but I didn't want Peter to know, though."

Hogan chuckled. "Sorry, Carter. He knows. He's as bad as you are. Anyway, in order to get you out of here, Wilson and I are gonna have to pull a piece of metal out of your side. Then, we'll need to stop the bleeding. After that, we'll take you over to be with Peter. Okay?"

"No problem. I'm ready. But first I need to tell you something just in case something goes wrong." Hogan started to interrupt, and Carter held up his hand. "Please, Colonel, this is important. I need you to know that I figured out that this earthquake wasn't natural. I think it was caused by some sort of bomb. A really big one—maybe something new the Nazis are testing. It's the only thing that makes sense. I had a lot of time to analyze it, and that's exactly what I think caused all this." Carter was pale and shaking from the effort of talking, but he had to be sure his commander understood.

Hogan nodded briefly. His stomach turned at the confirmation of his suspicions. "Good work, Sergeant! I'll get Kinch checking on your Intel right away. Right now, though, we need to focus on you. Andrew, in order to stop the bleeding, Sgt. Wilson is going to have to cauterize your side with gunpowder. Do you understand?"

Carter stared at Col. Hogan for a moment. His lips tightened, and then he said dryly, "You're asking a demolitions expert if he understands using gunpowder to close a wound? I've done it myself once or twice," Carter stated matter-of-factly. He held up his right arm, showing Hogan an ugly scar. Hogan stared at Andrew, realizing then just little he really knew about his youngest team member. It also hit him that this was the reason Andrew never wore short sleeves. He was obviously self-conscious about the scars from the accident a year ago, and apparently other scars, such as the one he had just seen.

Wilson brought the tray over with everything laid out and ready. Wilson and Hogan both washed and dried their hands. Carter reached for the rag he had been using to quench his thirst earlier, and held it ready. Hogan then used his knife to cut away the remnants of Carter's tan uniform shirt, and his undershirt. He nodded to Carter, and helped him place the rag in his mouth. "Bite down on it when you need to, Carter." Carter nodded.

Wilson had two of the men gently turn Carter onto his side. He grunted in pain as they did. Unfortunately, the mount, due to the fact that that Carter was quite thin, had pierced all the way through, causing a bloody wound in his back. Prepared for the possibility, Hogan placed a rolled-up blanket under Carter's right side, so that he could lean against it. In order to give Wilson better access, Hogan helped Carter turn slightly farther onto his side.

Joe swabbed some iodine around the wound. Then he wiped off the iodine. Hogan removed the lead from several bullets, so Joe had plenty of gunpowder to work with. He sprinkled about a grain's worth over the wound. Hogan lit a wooden match and handed it to Joe. He then put his hand on Carter's shoulder. Wilson lit the gunpowder, which flared up brightly as it burned. Carter screams were muffled by the rag. The flame died quickly and Wilson instinctively waved the smoke away with his hand and lightly bandaged the area.

He and Hogan then quickly turned Carter partially onto his back against the blanket roll, so that Wilson could have access to the wound on his abdomen. He repeated the process, only this time, the situation was much more painful, because he first had to remove the metal from the wound. He quickly did so and Carter began to shake as he screamed in agony this time. They had no time to waste as the wound was bleeding heavily. Hogan held onto both of Carter's shoulders to hold him still and Wilson quickly poured two grains, (two bullets worth) of gunpowder. He lit the match himself this time, then the gunpowder. This time, thankfully, Carter finally gave in to the pain and passed out. Wilson carefully bandaged the wound.

His rescuers laid the rolled-up blankets to either side of him, and covered him with several more. Finally, they were ready to transport him. They lifted him out of the pit and carried him over to the infirmary. Wilson started him on fluids as well, and began cleaning the numerous cuts and abrasions. He stitched a severe scalp laceration as well as the wounds in his side. They eventually placed him next to Newkirk, who was still drifting in and out of consciousness, his fever burning dangerously high.

~TBC~


	17. Newkirk's Decision

**2:30 p.m. Olsen Returns**

Olsen, Matthews and Langenscheidt made it back to camp. They were jubilant that they had gotten the requested medical supplies, plus a few more items from Frau Schmidt, including a pair of crutches for Newkirk; though they were sobered by what they had encountered in Hammelburg.

For one thing, the town was as devastated as Stalag 13 had been. For another, they were mystified by a complete absence of a Gestapo or Nazi presence in the area. They had gone completely unchallenged in the time they had been gone. The reason it had taken them so long was because of the deplorable condition of the roads, and because they had stopped a couple of times to help out some of the villagers who were in emergency situations. They had also run into one of their underground contacts who had a message for Papa Bear, which Olsen was carrying for him. He handed it over and when Hogan read it, he looked grimly around at the exhausted and ragged men around him; he was as angry as they had ever seen him.

"Damnit, Carter was right! Every Gestapo agent and German unit in the area was pulled out suddenly three days ago. Every Nazi in town suddenly left as well, with no explanation at all."

Kinch looked at Hogan. "Carter was right about what?"

Bitterly, Hogan replied, "This earthquake was the result of a Nazi bomb test. They must have set up the test, and suspected the results would be catastrophic, so they quietly evacuated the area in a way that wouldn't cause a panic. They just didn't bother to evacuate the people they didn't value."

 **2:45 p.m. The Infirmary**

Foster was working inside the infirmary after having caught a short nap earlier. The supplies from Frau Schmidt had been inventoried, and the sickest and most injured patients were benefiting from them. Several generators had been set up around the camp, one of which was now supplying good light to the infirmary. Foster knew that Wilson had a huge decision to make, and it could wait no longer. Wilson had given Newkirk massive doses of penicillin and cleaned his leg as thoroughly as he could. There was massive tissue damage, and simply no way to save his leg. At this point, gangrene was a distinct possibility, especially since so much time had passed since the initial injury.

Amputating his leg could kill the corporal, and not amputating the leg could just as easily kill him. While thanks to the supply run earlier, he did have what he needed to perform the surgery, he was not happy with the idea of having to perform such a major surgery under the current conditions. At the same time, he knew that if Newkirk was to have any chance at all, the surgery was vital.

He sought out Colonel Hogan and explained the situation. Hogan nodded. "I was afraid it would come to this. Is Peter lucid enough to understand what's happening?"

Wilson nodded. "Yeah. I have him on fluids, whole blood & penicillin at the moment. I can't give him morphine because of the anesthesia if I do the surgery. He's awake and aware. He and Carter have been talking some. I would about bet Newkirk knows the score."

Hogan sighed. "I know he does. He had it figured out back in the tunnel when he wanted me to check on Carter before him. Let me talk to the two of them."

Wilson smiled. "You know, if it wasn't for the fact that I know the both of them so well, I would think that was an odd statement, Colonel. Those two are worse than the Bobbsey Twins."

Hogan chuckled tiredly. "Yeah, I know. Sometimes I think they were fraternal twins separated at birth or something."

Wilson looked at his commander in concern. "Have you gotten any rest at all, sir?"

Hogan looked askance at Joe for the formality, but quickly realized he was serious. He shook his head and shot back, "Have you?" Joe nodded. "A little. Thomas and I traded shifts earlier, for about an hour while you were working to free Carter."

Hogan nodded. "Message received. I'll get some rest after I talk to the boys. If he decides to go ahead, when are you going to do the surgery?"

"Immediately. I have everything set up. Foster and I just need to scrub. Colonel, I hate this, but I can tell you, under the circumstances, there's just no other way. The only positive is that eventually London can get him fitted for a prosthetic. I know they're experimenting with plastics and metals now that are better that ever."

Hogan nodded sadly and clapped the medic on the shoulder. "I know, Joe. I know."

 **3:00 p.m. Newkirk's Decision**

Hogan made his way over to the cot on which Newkirk was lying. Carter was facing him, lying on his side on the cot next to him. At the moment, both men were quiet. Peter silently watched his commander approach. Hogan almost wished Carter was being his usual chatty self. It would have made things much less awkward.

No such luck. Hogan tried not to look at the corporal's ruined left leg, but the bloody bandages wrapping it and the i.v. bags of whole blood and saline snaking into Peter's arms made it an impossible situation. Newkirk's expression was carefully, almost casually neutral. By contrast, Carter's injuries and the look of frightened betrayal in his blue eyes caused Hogan to have to turn away for a moment. Although he could see by their eyes that his youngest team members already knew the truth, it did not absolve him from what he had to say. He took a deep breath as he removed his crush cap. "Newkirk, I— "

Peter smiled bitterly "So, Guv, it's me leg or me life, is it?"

Hogan sighed and nodded. As usual, the Londoner had cut right through it. "Yeah, Peter, that's about the size of it. It's your decision. But Wilson says there's really not much choice."

Newkirk pinned his commander with his steady green gaze. "If I do this, you know what the RAF could do to me."

Carter moaned in distress at the thought and unshed tears filled his eyes. Hogan held up his fist in a gesture of promise. "Corporal Newkirk, I know the RAF has never given you much reason to trust them, but what about me? Do you trust me?" He held Newkirk's gaze for a long moment as conflicting emotion sped across the Englishman's face. Trust and respect had never come easily to this man, and yet…

Finally, he nodded and spoke quietly. "I do, Robert. I trust you."

Hogan was pleased at the trust Newkirk's first use of his given name indicated, and he was damned if he would betray that trust. "Then believe me when I tell you that I will _never_ allow them to do what they threatened."

Newkirk considered for a long moment; then looked over at Carter.

Andrew looked at him sadly and shrugged, saying simply, "You're my brother. I don't want you to leave me, Peter."

Newkirk looked at Hogan, "Guess you better tell Wilson I'm ready."

 **3:15 p.m. Preparations**

Wilson came and administered the initial anesthesia into Newkirk's i.v. He told his patient, "You'll begin to get sleepy fairly soon. Just relax and let the medication work." He stepped back out to finish preparing for surgery.

Taffy came into the Infirmary and offered to pray with Newkirk. To his surprise, the young man accepted his offer graciously, and even prayed aloud himself for a moment. As he was leaving, Newkirk stopped him.

"Taffy, wait a tic. I wanna talk to you. Alone, 'cept for Andrew, if you don't mind."

Matthews was surprised, but waited, wondering if perhaps Newkirk wanted to make a sort of confession before the surgery. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened to the chaplain. The others cleared out. Andrew lay back, also curious about Peter's motives.

Newkirk cleared his throat. "I know I've given you a lot of grief in the past about my time at Newgate when you was posted there. You was allus good to me, even when I didn't deserve it. I just didn't believe you would keep m'secret here."

Taffy quirked an eyebrow at Andrew. Newkirk smiled. "Andrew knows about some of it. I told 'im when we was trapped."

Taffy grimly nodded his understanding. "I never believed you deserved the sentence you received. I tried to do what I could. I wrote letters, talked to anyone who would listen. Unfortunately, not many wanted anything to do with your case." One thing Matthews believed in was absolute honesty regardless of the circumstances.

Peter nodded, the bitterness written in the lines of his handsome features. "I know. If it 'adn't been for me sister Mavis, I'd've gone crackers. Nearly did, anyroads." He paused for a long moment. His green eyes were as serious as Taffy had ever seen them. "She tried to tell me about wot you did for me. I didn't want to believe 'er. I was so mad at God an' everyone that I didn't want nothin t'do with no sky pilot."

Taffy chuckled, remembering the rather violent reactions Newkirk had had each time he had tried to get to know the angry 16-year-old. "I do remember a few of those encounters. You know, it really wasn't fair, scaring a newbie assistant chaplain like that! I was interning, still in school, and you scared the daylights out of me. I didn't know what in the world I was supposed to do about you."

His comment made both Peter and Andrew smile. It wasn't long before Matthews noticed Newkirk's eyes beginning to droop, though he was trying to fight it. Taffy smiled at the two friends who had been brothers almost from the moment they met, and quietly left the room.

Carter looked at Newkirk. Neither of them said anything. There was no need. Both of them were soldiers, both could be tough as nails when they needed to be. Both had been through things and seen things that would forever shape and scar them; and yet in the other, each had found a kindred spirit. Though some baser sorts had said unkind things about them, there was nothing sexual in their relationship. Theirs was actually a much deeper friendship…and one which would soon be tested to its limits.

~TBC~


	18. An Operation

**3:30-5:40 p.m. Surgery**

Wilson had never wished so much that he were somewhere else in his life. He had witnessed an amputation before, but it was nothing at all like doing the real thing. He knew exactly what to do. He had performed other types of surgeries in medical school. But. He was _not_ an actual doctor yet. He had been through most of the training, but he did not have his actual license yet. And that made a huge difference. But, on the other hand, Newkirk was going to die if he didn't amputate so…

Fortunately, thanks to Frau Schmidt, he did have access to the anesthesia he needed. The ironic thing about it was that it was that it was sodium pentothal…also known as truth serum. Used intravenously and carefully monitored, it would not only keep Newkirk unconscious for the operation, but it would keep him out and pain-free for several hours afterward.

One other benefit was that after news had gotten around about the feisty corporal's situation, Wilson had no shortage of blood donors, although he suspected Olsen and Taffy may have been shaking down a few of the more reluctant donors, judging by the number of needle-shy fainters he and Foster had dealt with.

 **4:00 p.m. Surgery: Waiting**

Hogan realized that Wilson was right. There was so much to be done, and so many responsibilities facing him, that it was vital he remain functioning. And he was never going to be able to do that without some sleep. He sighed deeply, and although he was terribly worried about Newkirk and Carter, he did what he had learned to do so many years ago as a young officer…he purposely compartmentalized his problems, shut down his worries, and fell nearly instantly asleep sitting next to Carter's cot.

For Carter, the waiting was much harder. He had never been very good at waiting, although he had learned much about patience from his grandfather when he was young, and the Army when he was older. He was certainly _skilled_ at waiting. He just did not enjoy it. He had often heard the old expression, "Good things come to those who wait." His experience had often shown that saying to be a load of moose crap. Especially in Nazi Germany.

The fact that he was now tethered to a bed and an i.v. did nothing to ease the situation. And so, he did as his grandfather had taught him when he was a boy, first beginning his journey towards his vision quest. He laid back, and loosed his mind, allowing his spirit to wander away from the fear and the pain. And for a time, Little Deer Who Runs Swift and Sure Through Forest, was free.

 **4:00 p.m. The Camp: Making Improvements**

Kinch and his team had found and set up several generators, including one in the infirmary, along with a light in the infirmary as well. He had even managed to get two of the Klieg lights in the guard towers going. Several of the dogs had made their way back to the camp, and were huddled around LeBeau's cooking fire, seeming to find comfort in their friend's company. Salvage teams had been at work throughout the day, attempting to find anything of use. A couple of pallets were set out and an unofficial trading post had been set up.

Supplies and usable equipment were brought there. Sgt. Schultz declared himself Supply Officer. If anyone needed something, he simply asked for it, and if it was there, he received it. In this way, each man received at least a blanket, a bar of German chocolate, and whatever else was available at the time. Wilson had also requested that each man write down his name, original barracks # and blood type, in case of a shortage. He also asked them to note if they had already donated for Newkirk.

 **5 p.m. The Evening Meal**

Although it wasn't as much as they would have liked, and dishes and utensils had to be shared, LeBeau and his kitchen crew were able to put together a fairly decent evening meal of baked potatoes, rabbit stew and some loaves of brown bread that were salvaged from the ruined bakery. Things were very quiet in the camp, as the men were still trying to come to terms with their drastically altered reality. The men ate around several campfires and then went to see about setting up their bedding for the night. Sleeping arrangements would be very basic for this first night…they were not sure yet if any of the remaining barracks were safe to sleep in, so for now, everyone would sleep out in the open, or in the tents they found in the storage sheds. Some of the men had rigged pup tents out of old blankets and rope. It would be cold, but at least it was April and not December.

~TBC~


	19. Memorial

**7:00 p.m. Memorial Service**

Wilson's Burial Detail had been hard at work all day. Wilson had cleared his actions with both Klink and Hogan, who had assured him he had done the right thing, as hard as it had been. There really had been no other choice. Hogan took over the duties of ordering the actual disposition of the dead, and asked Taffy Matthews to read a brief service before the dreaded task was undertaken, and to pray for all those involved. Taffy went one step further and asked Hogan to gather all the survivors together in the camp after the evening meal.

Taffy's words were like the man; short, to the point, and completely unforgettable:

"Men, today has been one of the worst days most of us have ever faced. We have probably all lost someone we care about…we have surely all lost much we have grown used to in this place. And there may be worse to come. We have not yet found all our comrades—some still lay out there, waitin' for us to find them; some are not here, for they are too hurt to join us. But rest assured, we will find them, they will join us. We will survive; together. For today we have gone beyond two sides in a war. We have become brothers. As brothers, we _will_ live. Please join me in sayin' farewell to the brothers we lost today. I am going to recite the Twenty-Third Psalm, first, in English and then in German. Anyone carin' to join me is most welcome.

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.

Der HERR ist mein Hirte; Mir wird nichts mangeln. Er macht mich auf grüne Weiden hinlegen: er führet mich neben den stillen Wassern. He wiederherstellen meine Seele: er führet mich auf den Pfaden der Gerechtigkeit um seines Namens willen. Ja, obwohl ich durch das Tal der Schatten des Todes gehen, fürchte ich kein Unglück: denn du bist bei mir; Dein Stab und dein Personal trösten sie mich.

Vorbereiten du einen Tisch vor mir im Angesicht meiner Feinde: du anoints meinen Kopf mit Öl; meine Tasse läuft über. Sicherlich Güte und Barmherzigkeit folgt mir alle Tage meines Lebens: und ich werde bleiben im Haus des HERRN für immer."

There was a long moment of silence and then Taffy's sweet baritone began:

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…" He was soon joined by most of the others in the group, in a mixture of English and German, and somehow, it seemed perfect and right that the song should be sung that way. At its end, Taffy asked for a moment of silence, and then closed with a short prayer for the souls of their lost comrades, and for thanksgiving for the preservation of their own.

And then came the hard part. Wilson had stepped away from his patients during the song, awed by the beauty of the simple service. He stepped up next to Taffy. This next part was his responsibility. He beckoned to Langenscheidt and asked him to translate for him. The young corporal quickly agreed, and did so smoothly and flawlessly.

"I won't try to elaborate on what Taffy has said. But my responsibility is to the living. You know that many, unfortunately, have died today. I don't wish to appear cold or uncaring; I assure you that neither I nor anyone on the command staff is anything close to unfeeling in this situation. But in accordance with procedures set into place to prevent disease and infection spreading throughout the camp, you have seen that a group of volunteers have been removing the dead all day. They have done their jobs respectfully and discretely, and their efforts are appreciated enormously.

Now, records are being kept, as are personal effects. However, due to the sheer numbers of dead involved, individual burials are simply not possible; and a mass burial is not plausible." He paused and held up his hand to stem the shock and protests that began as his meaning slowly sank in to the already traumatized survivors.

At this point, both Hogan and Klink, who had left the infirmary a short time before, stepped up beside Wilson and Matthews.

 **7:45 p.m. The Question of Leadership Settled**

Klink held up his hand for silence. The Germans looked relieved to see their Kommandant on his feet once more. "What Sgt. Wilson is saying is true. He glanced over at Hogan and then continued. "I have made Sgt. Wilson the Acting Medical Officer for Stalag 13. This gives him the authority to make medical decisions concerning the camp and _all_ its personnel. Due to the extraordinary circumstances which we now face, I have appointed Colonel Hogan as my Co-Commander for this camp. His orders are to be obeyed as if they were my own. We have agreed this is the only way to keep this camp running."

Hogan nodded and spoke up. "That goes for all my guys as well. Everything is still the same as before, except that we need to rely on each other for survival now, more than ever. Now, Wilson is gonna take back over, and what he has to say to you may not sit well with some of you, but what he's gonna tell you is the absolute truth, and there is no other way to do things. If anybody has any complaints, don't take them to Wilson, bring them to me or Colonel Klink." He stepped back, and Wilson stepped forward, to the undivided attention of every man in the group.

"Starting this evening, we are going to be burning the bodies of our friends and comrades who have died in this disaster." There were gasps and protests from many of the men. Wilson shook his head vehemently. "Listen to me! There is absolutely no disrespect meant here! This is simply the way it has to be. If we don't do this, bacteria will spread rapidly all over the camp and we will end up with many more dying from disease and infections. Those who are injured will never heal. They _will_ die. Those who are not sick now, _will_ die. I know what I am talking about. Believe me, I don't like it any more than you do, but there is simply no other choice." Frustration and pain written all over his craggy features, Wilson stepped back amid the grumbling and protests.

Taffy Matthews chose this moment to step forward again. One man could even be seen glowering darkly at the chaplain as he griped, "Enough with the fancy words, preacher!"

"Look men. This is not fair, I agree with you. But it is also life. And life, as you all well know, is not always fair. Now," he suddenly turned his thousand-watt grin on the man who had heckled him, "me ol' mum used to have a sayin' at times like this. 'Lad' she'd say, 'pull up yer big boy panties 'n' deal wit' it!'"

Out of anyone else the statement would have seemed wildly inappropriate, but, as Taffy knew it would, the unexpected words broke the tension and the overwrought men actually chuckled for a few moments. Hogan smiled as he saw that most of the men were going about their business without giving the little chaplain or Wilson another thought. In fact, several men stayed to talk with Matthews, for he was in deep conversation with them, and there were no hostility at all.

~TBC~


	20. A New Reality

**8:00 p.m. Posting Guards**

For the first time in the history of Stalag 13, this included a mix of guards and POWs. And they were there not half so much to keep people in, but to keep danger out of the camp. Most of the fences were down, and only about half of the guard towers were usable. The reason the prisoners were staying put were two-fold. Number one was because of their mission and number two was because even if they were tempted to try and escape, right now it would be utter suicide, considering the fact that they no longer had the lay of the land since the earthquake was bound to have changed the landscape in the area drastically. Just the descriptions provided by those who had been outside the camp that day had proved that. There was also no telling what sort of wildlife had been disturbed by the tremors and might be roaming about. The general consensus was that it was much safer staying where they were.

Tomorrow they would begin the arduous task of rebuilding the camp.

Aftershocks were sporadic and unnerving, but none were anywhere near the intensity of those they had felt that morning. Due to the fact that it was now established that this had not been a naturally occurring event, Carter had told Hogan that he was sure that the tremors would diminish rapidly in both frequency and intensity.

 **9:00 p.m. As Well as Could Be Expected**

That night at sunset, Klink held roll call as usual, in an effort to maintain some semblance of normalcy. The main difference was that all the men stood in one large rank in the center of the parade field, and the reduction in their ranks was a stark reminder of their circumstances. It was apparent that, no one had simply walked away from the camp, as might have been expected. Everyone had been either too overwhelmed or too involved with rescue operations to consider the thought.

Tomorrow might bring other actions, but for today…all was as well as could be expected... Klink realized he had not given his superiors a single thought all day long. _What did that say about him as a German officer? What did that say about him as a human being?_ And so, Stalag 13 prepared for the first night of its new existence.

 **10:00 p.m. After the Operation**

Because of the sodium pentothal, it took Peter a long time to fully come out of the anesthesia. Wilson grew more concerned the longer he stayed under. He knew it was normal, but still the wait was hard. About three hours after the end of the surgery, Peter began to moan occasionally in pain. Unfortunately, Wilson couldn't give him any morphine, because it would react with the pentothal and could put him into a coma or kill him. At this point, it was Carter who provided the answer. "Sgt. Wilson, bring him back next to me, please."

Without hesitation, Wilson and Foster moved Newkirk from where they had him recovering back to his original spot next to Carter. Foster wordlessly rearranged the sheet covering the metal frame over Peter's legs. Andrew looked on sadly. Hogan stood by quietly. Finally, he asked the question that had been uppermost on his mind. "How much were you able to save?"

Wilson looked up at the other man, and then over at Carter. "Fortunately, we were able to save his knee. That's good, because it will make it much easier for him when it comes time for him to be fitted with a prosthetic."

Hogan nodded, and looked over at Carter, intending to say something encouraging, but discovered it wasn't necessary. Shutting out everything around them, Carter had reached over and taken Newkirk's hand in his own. Oblivious to his own considerable pain, yet mindful of their respective i.v. lines, Andrew shifted around so that he was facing Peter. And then Andrew Carter sang. His clear sweet tenor* rang through the tent. He sang every song he could think of. He even began singing songs requested by some of the other wounded. And eventually, just as he'd hoped, his singing did the trick.

Peter Newkirk opened one glassy green eye, then finally cracked the other one, and fixed him with an annoyed half-masted stare. Nonchalantly, Carter continued with his song. Finally, Peter managed to croak out "Carter."

Andrew smiled over at Peter. "Yeah?"

"Shut. Up."

Now Andrew's grin lit up to a thousand watts. "Okay." And he did.

Hogan had watched the byplay in amusement. And then all amusement faded as reality dealt Peter a cruel blow over the next few hours as the pain hit him full force. All his senses began to awaken as the anesthesia wore off completely. Coupled with this was the emotional reality of his first sight of the metal frame. No one would have blamed him had he simply given up then and there. But he did not. Instead, for anyone who didn't know him well, when he spoke, they may have thought he was joking. He regarded the frame for a long quiet moment, and then said, to no one in particular, "Funny, innit? I come thousands o' miles to fight the Krauts, figurin' ta get m'self shot 'r blown outta the sky." He laughed bitterly. "'n I get takin' out by a flippin' bunkbed! 'elluva thing, ain't it?"

His face went suddenly blank and he shut his eyes tightly as he laid back and refused to look at anyone again. Carter gazed helplessly at Colonel Hogan, who could only shake his head. He put his hand on Andrew's shoulder. Softly he said, "Give him time, Andrew. Give him time." He left the infirmary when Wilson came back in to check on his patients.

~TBC~

*Larry Hovis was a professional singer before becoming an actor.


	21. Despair

**April 25: Despair**

Andrew was able to be up and about. The wounds in his side, which had required surgery to close properly, still gave him some pain, but he was so restless and eager to help with the rebuilding that had started in camp, that Sgt. Wilson was just as desperate to release him. He finally did so on Carter's solemn promise that he would do no heavy lifting for at least another week, as Wilson really did not want him damaging his numerous stitches. Besides, he figured the cast on his wrist would slow him down some. He should have known better.

The number of patients coming into the infirmary had slowed down considerably. There were only five patients still there that had been wounded in the earthquake. The most seriously injured was Peter Newkirk. His physical wounds were healing nicely, but Sgt. Wilson was deeply worried about the Londoner. So much so that he sent Foster to find Colonel Hogan and Sgt. Carter. Thomas found Hogan on a ladder, nailing a shingle onto the roof of the barracks they were rebuilding. He called up to him.

"Colonel, Sgt. Wilson needs to talk to you. He says it's urgent. He needs Carter, too."

Much to his dismay, Carter popped up over the roofline of the building; hammer in hand, several nails in his mouth. His eyes were wide as he spoke around the nails, "What's wrong? What's happening with Peter?" He spoke almost at the same time that Foster scolded, "What are you doing up on that roof? You know you're not supposed to be up there! Wilson's gonna kill you if you've popped those stitches!"

Hogan's eyebrows shot straight up as he stared at his sergeant. "You never told me anything about restrictions, Carter. Come on and get down!"

Sheepishly, Andrew climbed down, trying hard not to wince in pain as he did so. Unfortunately, he was terrible at hiding his expressions, and both Foster and Hogan saw right through him. Hogan spoke a bit more sharply than he had intended, but he didn't like being blindsided like this. "It's a good thing we're going to see Wilson anyway, Andrew. Your luck, you'd have busted those stitches open up there and fallen off the damned roof."

"Sorry, Colonel."

"Just don't do it again."

"Yes Sir."

The three men walked into the infirmary. Wilson thanked Foster and asked him to keep an eye on the patients. Thomas took the hint and made himself scarce. The infirmary was already looking much more like a proper medical facility, as the men had rebuilt this building first, and it was now an actual wooden structure; admittedly rough, but much better than the tent. It was basically a four-room hut, with a six-bed ward, an examining area, a waiting area, and a combined office and supply area. Somewhere, Taffy and Olsen had scrounged some battered chairs and a dilapidated table for the office area. It was there that the three men now headed, Carter doing his best to avoid Wilson's gaze, but to no avail.

Wilson took one look at Carter's protective gait, and glowered at him. He turned to him before anyone had a chance to sit down. "Before we proceed, Carter, lift your shirt." When the young man hesitated, Wilson eyed him sternly, and said, "You want me to make that an order, sergeant?" Startled, Carter stared at him. "I can, you know. As Medical Officer, I outrank you." He then smiled unpleasantly as he played the ace Hogan knew was coming. "I also control all your inoculations for the duration." Hogan had to hide his smile behind his hand as Carter quickly lifted his shirt. Wilson had pulled that exact same gambit on _him_ quite recently.

As Wilson checked him over, he asked Hogan, "So what was our boy genius doing that strained the stitches and his muscles like this?" Carter opened his mouth to reply, and quickly shut it when Wilson poked him in the chest and snapped, "Was I talking to you?"

Hogan sighed and said, "He didn't tell me about your restrictions. He was helping me roof the new barracks."

Wilson looked at Carter and rolled his eyes. "Brilliant. I can't trust you not to get yourself banged up, can I?"

"I'm fine." Carter shrugged.

Without warning, Wilson suddenly thumped Carter hard on the back, directly on the long muscle across from his stitches. Andrew gasped and would have collapsed had not both Wilson and a surprised Hogan caught him. They lowered him in into the nearest chair, and let him catch his breath. He finally looked up at Wilson in confusion and anger.

Wilson held up his hand. "I'm sorry, Andrew, for hurting you, but I needed to make a point before you really do hurt yourself. I let you out of the infirmary earlier than I wanted to because you promised you would be careful. Climbing around on a roof does _not_ qualify. One more stunt like that is gonna land you back in here where I can keep an eye on you. Understood?"

Carter nodded. "Understood."

Hogan felt no need to add anything to the graphic lesson, so instead he looked over at Joe. "What did you need to see us about?"

Joe sighed deeply, getting back on track. "Physically, Newkirk is healing even faster than I would have expected, but mentally and emotionally, he's a train wreck. That's not entirely unexpected at this point, but if he doesn't snap out of it soon, I'm not sure how much more I'm gonna be able to do for him. He takes his medication when we give it to him, and cooperates with his medical care, but other than that, nothing. He doesn't eat unless we force him to, he sleeps only when we sedate him; he doesn't speak. He refuses visitors. He doesn't even want to see Andrew. In other words, he has given up. Frankly I don't know what to do."

The pain in Carter's eyes was terrible for the other two men to watch. Hogan drew a breath and finally spoke. He looked at Wilson. "Let me go talk to him. Maybe I can get through to him."

He left the room and went through the door into the ward, closing the door behind him. Carter stood and walked out of the infirmary, needing some time. He stood in front of the building, and lit a cigarette. Both Kinch and LeBeau had heard that Hogan and Carter had been called over to the Infirmary, so they were standing there when Carter came out.

They sensed their friend's mood and said nothing, but simply waited, Kinch smoking with him, leaning against the building companionably. LeBeau, usually so full of questions knew this had to be about Newkirk and put a silent hand on Carter's shoulder. All the men were startled when about five minutes later they heard something thud against the wall inside the building and Newkirk shouting, as well as several pairs of running feet. There was more thudding and bumping around. All three team members ran for the infirmary door.

The sight that greeted them inside the ward was one none of them would ever forget. Hogan was picking himself up off the floor where he had apparently been thrown. Wilson and Foster were frozen in place. Newkirk was sprawled on the floor near his cot. He was breathing hard, and his green eyes were wild. And in his left hand was a surgical knife. He held it firmly in his grip—an inch from his own throat.

Foster's face was bright red as he automatically patted the pocket of his shirt. He was just realizing that the Brit had relieved him of the knife when he had checked his i.v. earlier. In the state Newkirk was in, it was easy to forget that the man had lost none of his skills.

No one dared move, and they were barely breathing. Until suddenly, Andrew Carter got mad. His eyes darkened to a shade no one had ever seen before. It was as if his whole being frosted over. He resembled no one so much as one of the intimidating German officers he was so good at imitating. He spoke without moving a muscle.

Quietly Andrew said, "Fine, Newkirk. Do it."

Newkirk's green eyes shifted to his best friend. They met only deadly blue fire.

"I mean it!" Carter snarled. "Do it, Peter! You wanna give up and kill yourself, go ahead!" His voice dropped back to normal. "If that's all you care about, do it." He had been slowly inching his way towards Peter, and suddenly dropped to the floor quite close to him. Andrew made no move towards him, but kept staring directly into his best friend's eyes. And he was not done.

"But let me tell you something, pal. If you do this, you are not the man I thought you were. The Peter Newkirk I know has been through Hell, and he has survived. The Peter Newkirk I know has pulled _me_ through Hell. What if it were me sitting on my ass where you are? Would you let _me_ kill myself? What do you want me to do? Tell you, 'What happened to you is so horrible that I think you can't be a man anymore, so go ahead and slit your throat, _brother_?' Fine, then do it. But, Peter, know this…I am going to make you do it with me right here. Because I am _not_ leaving you. I never have and I never will. Your blood will splash all over me. So, do it, Peter. Do it." And with that, Carter switched from kneeling next to him to lying face-up under his left arm, with his head resting on Peter's good leg; his arms crossed, his eyes dark with challenge.

And Peter stared down at Andrew for a long quiet moment. He shut his eyes and simply breathed in and out a few times. When he opened them again, his eyes were calm, yet dark and bleak. He lowered the knife, though he still kept it in his left hand. His shoulders dropped in defeat. He absently carded the fingers of his right hand through Carter's hair. "Damn you, ya bloody git!" he said softly. He nearly smiled, and there was no heat in his words. Carter, his eyes now light and serene, his face calm, seemed content to stay where he was for the moment.

Hogan quietly said, "Andrew, the knife?"

Carter looked over at Hogan and shook his head. He looked back at Peter. "It's his decision, sir."

Newkirk held the knife back up for a moment and stared at it, a look of longing crossing his handsome features. He then looked down at Andrew and smiled slightly. "'m sorry, mate. Sorry 'm not stronger."

He handed the knife to Andrew, who sat up and turned it over to a very relieved Foster.

Wilson, Foster and Hogan helped get Newkirk situated back into his cot. Wilson immediately began reestablishing his i.v. and checking his bandages. After he was done, everyone said goodbye except for Hogan and Carter.

Andrew then turned back to Peter. "You're wrong, Peter. You are the strongest man I know. You always have been. You handing me that knife just proved it. You can do anything you want to do."

Peter snorted. "Right, mate. Except for climbin' ladders, I'm in perfect shape." He glared at Andrew.

Andrew glared right back. "You could probably figure a way to do it if you wanted to." Newkirk just rolled his eyes and snorted again.

Exasperated, Andrew lost his patience. "Fine, I think I've got a new nickname for you. How does "Pity Party Peter" grab you?!" and with that, Andrew stormed out of the room.

Wide-eyed, Newkirk stared at his commander. "What was that all about?"

Hogan smiled. "Oh, nothing really. Think about it, Peter. He gets his ass handed to him by Wilson just before his best friend attempts suicide and scares the hell out of him. He's been running on adrenaline, and I think your last bit of sarcasm hit him right about the same time the adrenaline crash hit. He'll be okay. I think what he needs is a monumental nap about now. Now look, I need to know. Are you gonna be alright? I want you to remember what I said. I am _not_ gonna let anybody send you anyplace. But you've gotta prove to me you're still a part of the team. If you go around the bend on me, I may not be able to keep London from shipping you out of here once things get back to normal."

Newkirk looked at him bleakly. "D'ya think that'll ever happen, sir? Gettin' back to normal, I mean."

Hogan looked at him. "I think it will. I think things will be different in some ways, but I do think the Germans will eventually rebuild this whole area. It is still their country, after all. And London will resume air drops, and we'll still have a mission, because the war will still go on, even though we've had a bit of an interruption."

"And what about the camp? I've heard the stories. Guards and prisoners workin' side by side with no regard for who's on what side of the war. Makin' friends even. Experiencin' the freedom to just be men who have survival in common without any other considerations. What happens when reality comes along and reminds 'em they're enemies?"

Hogan sighed. "I don't know, Newkirk. I've thought a lot about that. I just don't know."

~TBC~


	22. Rebirth

**Late May**

 **Rebellion: Takedown—Two Points**

There were some prisoners in camp who had made it very clear they were no longer signed onto the idea that there was even any mission left to fulfill, let alone any reason to stick around. The leader of this faction was Sgt. Billings. He had been quietly gathering those who agreed with him around him. He knew that getting out of Germany would take organization and timing, and he was not a stupid man.

Although he despised Hogan and his core team, whom he now considered collaborators for cooperating with Klink and the rest of the filthy Krauts, he knew that Hogan would never put up with what he had planned. He made sure that each man he took into his confidence was absolutely loyal to him. His confidence grew daily as more and more men began to see things his way. Slowly, they began to gather the items they would need for their escape, stealing only a few items here and there, never much at a time, and never anything that would really be missed by anyone.

Unfortunately, unlike Hogan, Billings was not a very good judge of character. Inevitably, the old saying is true: The problem with crime is the sort of people you have to associate with. And some of the people who were loyal to Billings were not only thugs and bullies; they were also not terribly bright. One such individual was a corporal from Georgia who was basically raised to hate pretty much everybody. His name was Lester Markum and although he was slender and of medium height, he was as tough as whipcord, and prone to pick fights. He had tangled with both Newkirk and Taffy several times in the short time he had been in camp.

He also was bigoted and generally mean-spirited as well as being prone to spreading rumors about certain people. Fortunately for him, those rumors had been killed before they reached the wrong ears. He had only been at Stalag 13 for a couple of weeks before the earthquake, and Hogan had been planning on engineering his transfer to another Stalag. The earthquake had brought out the worst in Markum and other like him. He had now decided he was simply going to take what he wanted from anybody he wanted to. And heaven help anyone who got in his way. _Mistake Number One_.

Markum made the mistake of stealing a shirt from Andrew Carter. Now, it was not Carter who made the fuss about it. He wasn't even there…he was out hunting. It was his _friend_ , the gimp Newkirk. Ever since he had lost his left leg, he had stayed pretty much in the background of things, quiet and morose, not like his old, cocky, _dangerous_ self at all. He had those crutches, and he could get around pretty well, but still…he wasn't much anymore. _Mistake Number Two_.

Clothing of any type was hard to come by, and the men had taken to fashioning shirts out of whatever they could salvage. The shirt in question was Andrew's last uniform shirt, salvaged from his footlocker, and though it was a bit on the threadbare side, it was about the best he had. He had hung it up to dry beside the tent he, Newkirk and LeBeau were sharing. Newkirk himself was wearing one of his old undershirts, which by this time was somewhat grubby, but serviceable. His RAF uniform pants were still in decent shape. He had expertly tailored the left trouser leg in such a way as to protect his knee and still look sharp. He managed this feat by trimming, hemming and cinching the fabric below his knee to match his right trouser leg.

The tent was located next to the makeshift kitchen they had set up for LeBeau. Newkirk, as was his custom, was inside the tent, sewing. He was making a new pair of pants for LeBeau out of a spare blanket. Newkirk spent most of his time inside the tent, as he preferred not to mix with any of the other men. He could not stand the automatic looks of pity he received.

Whatever else may have happened, his hearing was as sharp as ever; and he heard someone moving around near the clothesline Andrew had strung just outside the tent. As quietly as he could, Peter used a crutch and moved to the entrance of the tent. When he saw Corporal Markum pulling Andrew's shirt off the line, he cleared his throat. "Ain't you a bit mixed up there, mate?"

Markum turned to him, but pulled the shirt off and tucked it under his arm anyway. He stared at the other man defiantly. A cruel gleam lit his eyes. "About what? Law of possession, far as I see. What, Gimpy, mad 'cause I swiped your girlfriend's shirt?" _Mistake Number Three_.

Afterward, Markum was never quite sure what happened. He woke up with a splitting headache, and felt as if his jaw was broken. He was surrounded by several of his friends, who were staring at him with expressions ranging from disgust to amused pity. And Newkirk was seated on the ground next to him just staring at him. Markum found himself truly afraid for the first time in his life. Because Peter Newkirk was not threatening him in any way. He was, in fact, simply sitting there, smoking a cigarette. And staring at him. Markum found he could not tear his gaze away from that unholy green fire.

A long minute passed as Peter calmly finished his cigarette, still staring at Markum. A crowd began to gather around the silent group, which did not appear to bother Newkirk in any way. Finally, he crushed out his cigarette and reached out to the other man. Markum visibly flinched as he focused on Newkirk's bruised and skinned knuckles. "Word to the wise, mate." He slapped Markum gently on his bruising cheek with each of his next words. "Don't. Ever. Say. That. About. Me. Brother. Again." Newkirk then picked up his crutch and hauled himself upright. He reached down and picked up Andrew's shirt, and without another word, disappeared back into the tent.

Unknown to Newkirk, Hogan and Kinch had seen the whole altercation. Rather than being upset about the fight, Hogan was elated. He had seen the old Newkirk at last. He could only hope he wouldn't disappear back into his shell. One look at Kinch showed him he wasn't the only one. Kinch's grin could've powered a generator all by itself.

 **Triumph**

Two days later, Carter returned to the tent to find it empty. This was unusual, because Peter almost never left it voluntarily. Andrew, like the whole camp had heard about Peter's fight with Lester Markum. On the one hand, he was proud of Peter for standing up to the bully, and happy that he was showing some of his old spirit at last, but on the other hand, he was worried that Markum might end up going after Peter out of sheer revenge.

With this thought in mind, Andrew went looking for his best friend. He heard shouts coming from the construction area and headed over to see what the commotion was about. He never expected the sight that greeted him. There was a large group of shouting, gesturing men surrounding part of one of the new barracks. At first, Andrew couldn't see what all the excitement was about. He figured it was a fight, and was afraid Peter was in the middle of it. He shoved his way through. His heart sank at first when he did indeed recognize Newkirk at the center of the mass of men. However, there was no fight. Peter was shirtless, capless, and sweating like a pig.

He was also halfway up the ladder leading to the roof of the barracks. And the men were shouting their encouragement. _You might think it an easy thing to simply hop up a ladder on one foot. But when the ladder is ten-feet-tall, and your center of gravity is messed up because a part of you that your body thinks should be there is missing, it's not so easy._ _ **And fall and fail sound an awful lot alike**_ **.** Newkirk was no longer sure he could even make the next rung.

Carter wanted so badly to yell at Peter, to go and yank him off that ladder, to keep him safe. But he knew he couldn't. He knew exactly what he had to do.

And above the other voices, Peter heard it. "Go, boy! You can do this, come on!"

He smiled. He gathered his strength, took a deep breath, and grabbed for the next rung.

It took him nearly another hour, but the cheers could be heard all over the camp when Peter carefully hoisted himself off the ladder and planted himself firmly on the roof of the barracks. _No Olympian could have ever felt like this!_ He raised his fists in the air in triumph to the cheers of the men. After a while, when he had gathered his strength, he was ready to come down. He looked down at the men and caught Olsen's eye, and nodded his head slightly, indicating what he had planned. Olsen realized what he wanted, and leaned over and whispered something to a few of the men who quickly grinned and agreed. Once the men on the ground were ready, Peter suddenly launched himself into a swan dive from the roof directly into the crowd below! And the men caught him easily, then Olsen handed him his crutches.

Andrew's face was very pale, and still. Peter halfway expected his best friend to punch him in the nose. He was completely unprepared for Carter's reaction. Carter stared at Newkirk for a long moment and then suddenly hugged him tightly, causing Peter to drop his crutches.

Startled, Peter yelped, "Oi, 'ang on, ya ruddy git, let go!" And the entire crowd burst into relieved and excited cheers and laughter. Peter Newkirk was back.

 **Beginning to Rebuild**

One of the most difficult challenges they faced was the sheer enormity of clearing away the rubble left by the destruction of so many of the buildings. Starting on the day after the earthquake, Klink and Hogan formed rotating duty rosters assigning all the able-bodied survivors to clean-up duty, as well as to specific tasks which fit their individual abilities and talents.

They picked an area that was fairly clear and began stacking salvaged building supplies in that area. In this way, the rubble was cleared away and the salvaged supplies were organized so that rebuilding could begin as soon as possible.

Walt Fitzimmons turned out to be a great foreman for the organization of the construction yard. And Hogan put Billings in charge of the debris clean-up. After the altercation between him and Newkirk, Hogan figured that keeping Billings and his men as busy as possible was not a bad idea. Also, he and Kommandant Klink had developed a system for accounting for the supplies and equipment discovered in the debris, so there was not nearly the opportunity for theft that Billings and his men had been able to take advantage of before.

This was the reason that the Infirmary was able to be rebuilt as quickly as it was. They started on rebuilding the barracks next, as shelter was essential. It spoke much of Klink that he insisted that shelter for the men be built before the Kommandantur was rebuilt. In deference to Klink's and Shultz's age and physical conditions, the men did finish clearing out one of the storage sheds, and Klink and Schultz moved two of the cots in there.

Another new building going up was the kitchen and a new mess hall. LeBeau and his team of cooks had put together a serviceable outdoor mess area, but it would not be much longer before the winter cold and rainy season would make outdoor cooking and eating difficult at best. A number of tin plates and utensils had been salvaged from the wreckage of the mess hall, though many were dented, and all required a thorough cleaning.

Carter, thanks to skills learned from his grandparents, was able to teach the others how to make soap and candles, both skills which served them very well. He even finally got to show Newkirk how to make a rabbit snare, which he had great success with, although he took much teasing about it, considering their experience with his first "rabbit trap." *

~TBC~

*Ref. the episode "Klink vs. the Gonculator."


	23. Visitors

**August**

The camp had their first real contact with the outside when some members of the Underground came to visit from town. Among them were Leticia and her family. Unknown to Peter, she and her family had been visiting relatives in Dusseldorf when the earthquake hit. Their farm had been partly destroyed, and they had spent the last three months rebuilding what they had lost. Fortunately, the house had sustained only minimal damage, and they had not lost any of their stock.

They had heard of the devastation at the Stalag, but no one had given them any specifics. Therefore, Leticia had no idea that Peter had been injured, let alone that he had lost his leg.

Newkirk was using a hoe for balance as he worked in the vegetable garden they had planted. He had worked out a system, and it seemed to work for him. They had a good crop of potatoes, cabbages and other vegetables planted. LeBeau had even managed to get hold of a few chickens from the original flock belonging to Colonel Klink, so the men built a coop for them. In this way, they sometimes had fresh eggs. Both of these were on the far side of the new Kommandantur.

Leticia's family had loaded some of their milk on to a wagon and brought it to the main gate of the Stalag. They were allowed to bring it just inside the gates. The prisoners all brought their cups out to buy some of the milk, and the guards brought several pitchers for the cooks, including LeBeau. One of the guards answered Leticia's question about where Newkirk was, and she received permission to take him some milk if the guard would escort her. He was young and rather foolish, and didn't realize Leticia's ulterior motive. Also, he was so used to the one-legged corporal that he didn't think about how the young lady might react…let alone realize that the Englander might mean anything special to her.

They quickly turned the corner to the garden, just as Peter turned around to pick up his crutch. He was dressed in his customary blue uniform pants and a light blue work shirt, since the military was still working on getting everyone proper uniforms. Leticia's eyes widened as Peter, also shocked and off- balance, dropped the crutch and fell to the ground. Leticia, without another thought, ran straight to him, and fell to her knees and into his arms.

Peter stiffened at first, not sure how she could still feel the same about him after what had happened, and then he realized she loved him…she—loved him! He hugged her back, and then, oh sweet Je…she kissed _him_! And Peter Newkirk was a happy man for all of five minutes; the time it took for reality to set in. Because he was a Brit and a prisoner; and his Leticia was German, and a member of the Underground. And her father hated him. He would hate him even more when he realized he had only one leg. He would see him as a cripple. He held Leticia back from him at arm's length.

He looked over his shoulder at the guards who were watching them. He was surprised they hadn't pulled him away from her, but then he saw Colonel Hogan talking to them. Apparently even though the Germans were back in control, most of the guards still looked at Colonel Hogan as Co-Commander of the camp.

After he turned back to Leticia, the two of them were oblivious to the small crowd that began to gather and grow, which included Leticia's family and Newkirk's brothers and fellow prisoners. Even Klink and Schultz stood toward the back. Klink knew he should break things up, but listening, he decided this was another time he would choose to be a man first.

Newkirk looked at Leticia, pain shining in his emerald eyes. "Look at me, love. I mean really _look_ at me."

She looked into his eyes and said very clearly, "I know what you are saying to me, Peter Newkirk." She reached over to where he had sprawled when he landed. "And I _have_ looked at you. And now, _you_ look at _me_."

She got to her knees, moving her skirts as she did, and easily got behind him. "What are you doing?"

"Hush, Peter." She placed her arms under his and helped him sit straight.

Startled, Peter protested. "'ere, hang on, I can— "

"I know you can, my love. Hush."

She moved back around beside him on his left side.

He was now watching her intently, his brow wrinkled with worry and confusion.

And then, she placed her hands on his trousers on his left thigh. He stiffened and stared at her.

She shifted her position again, and starting almost at the top of his thigh, she slowly ran her hands over nearly every inch of his leg. Eventually, she rested both her hands very gently on his stump.

In all this time, Peter, his eyes wide, had not said one word. When she had started to explore his leg, he had leaned back on his elbows, and conflicting expressions played across his face. The emotion that won out by the time she was finished was plain to everyone watching. Peter Newkirk had found his soulmate. And he knew it.

She smiled at him, and he suddenly pulled her into his lap, causing her to laugh. He kissed her lightly. This was too much for Schultz, who broke the tension by calling out, "No hanky-panky among the prisoners!"

Everyone laughed when Leticia shot back, "But I'm not a prisoner!"

Hogan decided they had pushed their luck far enough with Klink at this point. After all, they _were_ still prisoners. "Okay guys, break it up. Come on, you lovebirds, Miss Steiger needs to go back with her family, and I'm sure Corporal Newkirk has some work he needs to finish."

Newkirk glared daggers at his commander, but knew he was right.

"Colonel, let me walk her to the gate, please."

"Sure. Okay, everybody. Come on, let's go." Everyone drifted off to their various activities, with most of the men heading back towards the barracks.

Newkirk picked up his crutches and they started towards the gates, talking quietly. He told her briefly how he had lost his leg, and how he was to receive a prosthetic eventually.

"The funny thing is, I'm almost used to it. I can do a lot of what I did before, just slower."

Leticia smiled. "I knew from the moment we met that you could do anything you put your mind to."

Newkirk turned towards her, "Anything, hmmm?"

She nodded gravely. They both sensed that the conversation had taken a sudden turn. They were quiet as they strolled along slowly.

There was a very large rock to one side of the gate, and this is where he led her. Carefully, he leaned one crutch against the rock, and then turned Leticia so that her back was against the rock. Her eyes widened as he reached into his pocket, and pulled something out, and then used his crutch to lower himself to his right knee. She gasped when he looked up into her eyes. He said carefully, "Leticia Magrita Steiger, would you do me the honor of marrying me?" and he held his breath.

Eyes alight with joy, she smiled at him. "Yes, Peter William Newkirk, of course I'll marry you! I love you!"

And he placed the ring he had carried for so long on her finger. And this time, when he went to stand, he allowed her to help him. He put his arms around her and leaned against the rock with her. He chuckled. "I guess I should've asked your father for your 'and first, shouldn't I?"

She smiled. "Perhaps, but if he had said no, I would never have spoken to him again. I will talk to him, do not worry. After all, we are not a typical couple and as Papa is fond of saying, 'in war sacrifices must be made.'"

Peter grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. "Ah, I can see how life is goin' to be, love. I don't 'ave a chance, do I?"

Leticia batted her lashes at him and shook her head. "Not a single bloomin' one, Corp. Not a single bloomin' one!"

Her horrific Cockney accent had Newkirk nearly falling over with laughter, which brought Leticia's brother around the side of the rock. He had not heard the conversation, but had been looking for his sister. He looked at her sternly, sparing barely a glance at the Englander.

"Papa is waiting. It is time to go."

Leticia sighed and told Peter, "We will contact you soon."

She walked away then, but turned to look back and Peter winked at her. She smiled as she got into the wagon with her family. He noticed she was making no effort to hide her ring, so he expected to hear an explosion from her father before they got too far down the road. He was surprised when none came.

He turned to head back to Barracks Two, which was nearly identical to its predecessor, right down to the central table and the layout of the bunks. He was grinning as he opened the door. He also realized that everyone was looking at him expectantly. Nonchalantly, he sat down, parked his crutches against his and Carter's bunks, picked up his cards and began to shuffle them.

Finally, LeBeau could stand it no longer. "Well? What happened?"

Newkirk smiled, but didn't look up. "I proposed."

LeBeau grinned. "And?"

This time, he did finally look around at his friends. "She said yes!"

There was a general course of congratulations and backslapping, until Peter looked over at Carter, who was smiling. Suddenly, Peter got very quiet, and he looked uncertain.

"Andrew, mate, are you okay with this?"

Andrew looked startled. "What do you mean, Peter? I'm happy for you. Leticia is a beautiful girl and I know she truly loves you."

"I know that, but it's just that marriage changes things when mates go off and get married, y'know?"

Andrew laughed. "I know that, Peter. Don't worry about it. You're my brother and you always will be. Leticia will just kind of be like gaining a sister is all."

Newkirk looked relieved and Kinch spoke up. "Besides, Peter getting married is a long way off. He can't do it until he gets back to London after the war anyway. So, there's no reason to even think about it right now anyway. You have lots of time, Andrew."

Kinch didn't see it, but Hogan did. A shadow crossed Newkirk's face at Kinch's words. Hogan didn't say anything, but he filed the incident away. He had a feeling there was a very interesting conversation with the Londoner in his near future.

The conversation came the next morning after breakfast when Hogan was sitting on the newly-constructed bench outside the barracks. Some of the guys were playing volleyball, and Newkirk came over and sat down next to his commander. He lit a cigarette and sat quietly for a few minutes. Finally, he said, "Colonel, I need to ask you a question. Do you think I'm selfish for wantin' to marry Leticia right away?"

"You mean while you're still a prisoner?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"Well, she definitely wouldn't be able to stay in Germany. She'd be a British citizen, and that would make her a target for the Gestapo. We'd have to get her out to London. Either that, or you'd have to become a German citizen." Hogan didn't smile when he said this, as he wanted to present all the alternatives, even though he knew Peter would never consent to giving up his British citizenship.

Peter smiled. "No, me German's good, but I wouldn't want to have to rely on it.

"She's quite a girl."

Newkirk smiled proudly. "That she is, sir that she is."

"Well, I'm sure, if her parents are willing, Taffy could marry the two of you. The only problem, " and here Hogan smiled mischievously, "would be coming up with all the proper documents."

Newkirk crushed out his cigarette butt and eyed the colonel, a twinkle in his eye. "Oh, I'd bet that's not gonna be a problem, sir."

Hogan grinned at the master forger. "Somehow, I didn't think it would."

~TBC~


	24. Celebration

**October**

Peter Newkirk was more nervous than he had ever been in his life. He had sat down with Leticia and come clean about his entire background, not wanting to have anything between them. And she had understood. She had cried when she realized what he had been through, but she stood by him. Not only through the pain of the revelation, but she vowed she would stand by him for the rest of her life. After they were married, she would go to London and work with the Underground and wait for him to come home to her.

Although the Gestapo was beginning to make its presence known again in the general area, they had not yet reached Hammelburg. The bombing test and subsequent earthquake had taken a huge toll on their credibility and on some of their personnel, so they were wisely laying low at the moment. Hilda had only just arrived back in Hammelburg since she had stayed out of the area under it was considered safe to move back to town. Andrew was very happy to know he would be seeing her soon, as he had been missing her desperately.

And so, the activities at Stalag 13 were being largely ignored. Right now, Peter found himself standing in the front of the newly constructed and now decorated Rec Hall. He was dressed in a brand-new RAF dress uniform, perfectly tailored by Louis LeBeau. Andrew Carter was standing next to him, also in his tailored dress uniform. Taffy Matthews, similarly attired was standing behind them. Seated in the front rows on either side were Peter's Barrack's Two teammates and Leticia's family. Also, seated next to Col. Hogan on the end of Peter's side were Col. Klink and Sgt. Schultz. Newkirk considered them practically family anyway. The rest of the camp crowded into the remaining seats.

The one thing he truly regretted was that his sister Mavis couldn't be there. He had written her about the wedding, and she had written back, demanding to hear all the details. She had also taken to writing back and forth with Leticia, and offered to have her stay with her when she came to London. Peter dragged his thoughts away from his sister as someone started the music on the record player.

Leticia's eighteen-year-old sister came up the aisle first, looking beautiful in her simple gown of pale pink. She smiled at Peter as she took her place across from Carter. Every unattached male in the place was watching her with expressions akin to those of hungry wolves, though they did their best to try to hide it in deference to her scowling older brothers. Peter couldn't help but chuckle. And then his own expression turned to one of stunned awe as everyone stood when Leticia's father guided her through the doors and they started up the aisle.

Leticia was radiant in her gown of antique ivory lace embroidered with seed pearls. She had told him she would be wearing her grandmother's gown, but he had no idea it was anything like this. She looked like an angel. Her rich blonde hair was French-braided down her back, and she wore a simple crown of flowers. And she carried one single perfect calla lily.

Oddly, Peter found his nerves calming as she came nearer. He knew absolutely this was the rightest thing he had ever done in his life. He waited until her father had given her hand into his. He then shifted slightly and handed his crutches over to Andrew, who stood just near enough if things didn't go as they had planned. He had a surprise for Leticia. He was determined he would stand for the ceremony without the crutches. He had been practicing for days. Her eyes widened and then sparkled with pride as she realized what he was doing.

The ceremony was sweet and poignant in that all those present knew that these two would have very little time together before they would be separated for a very long time, perhaps forever. The words spoken by Taffy and by the couple had never touched anyone as deeply who had heard them before as they did that day.

It was not only the traditional ceremony; it was the vows the two had written for each other that touched every person listening to them:

As she held tightly to his hands, Leticia spoke first. "Peter, the first time I met you, I knew you were someone very special. I was young, but even then, I could see the spark of passion, of dedication, of loyalty in your eyes. I could see that life had not treated you well, but I could also see that you were determined to make your own way, and be more than what life had handed you.

As I got to know you better, I fell in love with the generous, loving spirit hiding behind the gruff exterior. You had learned to hide your feelings, but slowly you revealed the beautiful person you are.

Recently, I have watched you face pain and adversity with a strength and courage that has only made me love you more. Peter William Newkirk, I'm not sure how I could possibly love you any more, but I promise to try."

It took Peter a moment to regain his composure. Her words had touched him deeply, and so he had to lighten the moment, or he would never get through his vows. "Leticia, me recollection of that first meetin' is a bit different, as I recall you chuckin' a snowball at me an' scorin' a direct hit!" Leticia blushed as laughter floated around the room. He also realized he had made a slip, since he had been out of camp on a mission when they met, so he thought fast and covered it quickly, in case Klink noticed.

He grew serious again. "M'Darlin' even then, you was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, standin' by that wagon." His eyes narrowed slightly at her confused expression, and then she caught on. She smiled as he went on, "But gettin' to know you has been the best thing to ever 'appen to me. You bring out all the best in me. Me mum used to tell me that I would know that I 'ad found the right woman when I would want to be a better man for her, and when I couldn't see goin' through me life with anybody but her. Well, darlin', me mum was right. That's how I feel about you. I never want you to feel anything but proud of me. I wish me mum could've met you. She would've loved you. And so, me darlin' girl, today I give you everything I am and everything I 'ave. I can't promise tomorrow, but I can promise that I will always love you. So, as you've taken me 'ands, take me 'eart, and keep it safe."

Taffy finished the ceremony, and there was not a dry eye in the house.

When he turned, and announced, "Ladies and Gentlemen it is my great pleasure to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Peter William Newkirk!" the entire place broke out into cheers and applause. A beaming Carter handed over his crutches and the couple walked back down the aisle and headed to the back of the hall, Leticia placing one hand on Peter' arm. To their surprise, after they had formed the receiving line at the door, and all the guests had gone out, they stepped out front and into an archway formed by a troop of guards holding their rifles out so they could walk under it. The first two in line were Schultz and Langenscheidt. Both were smiling.

When they reached the end of the arch, Colonel Klink and Colonel Hogan were waiting for them. Klink handed Newkirk a key, and Hogan handed him a bottle of champagne. Newkirk looked at the key, a bit confused. Klink explained, slightly uncomfortable. "The Kommandantur. It was recently finished, remember? That is the key to my private quarters. I have had it made ready for you tonight. No newlywed couple should be deprived of a honeymoon. I will expect you after the reception. If you like, I will see to it that the champagne is iced." Speechless, Newkirk handed him the bottle. Abruptly, Klink turned and walked quickly away.

While all this was taking place, the rec hall was being set up for the reception. LeBeau had outdone himself by baking a beautiful wedding cake. There was beer and schnapps, and punch for the non-drinkers. Music was put on the record player.

Carter had started taking photographs beginning at the arch, and was generally making a pest of himself with his camera, although no one really minded. His gift to the couple was going to be a wedding album, and he wanted to get plenty of good shots. He also planned to send some photos back to Mavis and to make an album for Leticia's family. While he was setting up some shots of the cake, he took plenty of ribbing from his friends about whether he had remembered to put film in the camera. He had once forgotten the film on a critical mission and had yet to live down the mistake. Eventually, Leticia changed out of the delicate gown and into a lovely pink suit, so that she was able to enjoy the party without ruining her gown.

The party was wonderful, and lasted fairly late, before Klink and Hogan finally called a halt to the festivities. Towards the end of the evening, Leticia and Peter took their leave, to quite a lot of catcalls and fanfare. It didn't matter that they were only crossing the compound to their "getaway." Olsen and some of the other men had borrowed a vehicle from Leticia's father for the newlyweds to make their getaway. When they emerged from the rec hall, there stood a horse and wagon, complete with decorations, and fitted out with sheet-draped chairs in the back of the wagon. A laughing Olsen was in the driver's seat, along with Leticia's older brother, Hans. Hogan grinned at the couple, "Well, it looks as if your chariot awaits."

He gave the couple a mock bow, and gestured towards the wagon. Any awkwardness on Peter's part was immediately dispelled when Andrew lowered the tailgate and both Leticia and Peter were swept up by a number of hands and dumped unceremoniously into the chairs. They were then merrily paraded around the camp several times before finally being deposited in much the same manner on the porch of the Kommandantur. Everyone eventually withdrew and left the happy couple to spend their first night as husband and wife.

The night was both beautiful and bittersweet, as they realized this would their only night together for a long time. Tomorrow, Leticia would be leaving for the first leg of her long journey to London. They made love carefully and gently, mindful of Peter's limited stamina due to the privations of the camp. They simply treasured each other, knowing they were gifted with only this moment, and loving each other so very much. The first time was hard for Peter, because she had never seen his stump, and it made him uncomfortable, but, much like in garden, she took her time, and explored his body carefully and playfully. They discovered that though there was not much feeling in the stump itself, his thigh was highly sensitive, and she delighted in driving him crazy.

Altogether it was a wonderful night, which culminated in a magnificent breakfast in bed, served by a highly-amused Louis LeBeau, who quickly wound up getting kicked out. The morning ended with the first bubble bath Peter had ever indulged in. (Part of the fun was discovering that Kommandant Klink even had the box of bubble bath in his vanity to begin with!) The tub was deep and narrow, so the fit was a bit interesting, but they laughingly made it work, and ended up staying in until the water was nearly cold and there was not a bubble left in sight.

~TBC~


	25. Reflections

**Spring**

 **Normalcy**

Hogan never thought he would live to see the day that things would be back to normal in the camp. But that day had finally arrived. The barracks had all been rebuilt, along with most of the other buildings. The Germans had moved back into the area and were denying any knowledge of the disastrous bomb test the previous year. The Underground was beginning to pick up the pieces of their operation, but it would be a long time before they were up to the same level of activity they had known before the earthquake. It would take time, but they were a tough, determined people, and Hogan was confident that it would happen. For his part, their mission was slowly beginning to take shape again.

The tunnel system would be much tougher to rebuild, because they would have to work their way around the debris that was buried in various areas of the camp. A bonus to that, however, was the fact that they could use some of the buried debris as shoring for the walls. Carter's lab had been completely buried in the earthquake, and for safety, they had blocked off that part of the tunnel. Carter had done an inventory of the items they were able to salvage, and was reasonably sure was nothing buried there that would give them any unpleasant surprises in the future. They were hard at work rebuilding another lab for him, this time set off by itself but accessible from Barracks Two, with two separate entrances and reinforced walls. It had already been christened "Carter's Lair," the same name given to his old lab by Newkirk.

.

Another slice of normalcy came at breakfast. Hogan was struck by the fact that things were very much the same as they had been on that fateful morning nearly a year ago. They were enjoying a great breakfast, and Carter? Well, he was reading a message out loud from Hilda. She would be returning very soon from London where she had been helping her sister Helga since the birth of her twin sons. The heroes had helped her slip through the channels and get to her sister. Klink simply believed she had gone to visit family in Dusseldorf. He had been receiving weekly messages from her via London.

Newkirk was seated by Carter, grinning in anticipation. London had also notified him they would soon be sending a specialist to fit him for a prosthetic leg. Hogan had fulfilled his promise to Newkirk, and the Londoner wouldn't be going anywhere until they were all liberated, which, with the way the war was going, might be sometime soon. Life was good.

After Carter finished with the message, they got to talking about their families. They enjoyed sharing memories of growing up in their various homelands. Carter had kept them entertained many a time with his antics as a child.

Kinch asked Andrew, "I know you've mentioned your brother. Older or younger?"

"Oh, I've got a big family. I have one older brother, Sammy, and Sarah, my older sister, and four younger brothers."

Hogan grinned. "Your parents had _four_ more after you? Brave."

Newkirk chuckled. "Or crazy."

LeBeau, not to be outdone, quickly put in, "or how you say, ' _gloutons un punition'_."

Kinch laughed and automatically translated, "Gluttons for punishment."

Andrew smiled and retorted, "Actually, none of my brothers are anything like me. His expression

saddened. "Except that Sammy went into the Air Corps, too. He was shot down. My parents got the visit and his gold star two years ago."

Hogan, who had known this from Carter's file, put his hand quietly on his shoulder. He had also known how close the two had been. No one said anything for a minute.

Carter looked at his friends. "Thanks, guys." He reached over to Newkirk's pack of cigarettes, snagged one, lit it and left the barracks quietly. They knew he was likely headed to the small, tough patch of grass that had survived against all the odds, just like him.

One of the projects that Hogan was most pleased with was the joint one they had embarked on, which was a memorial to the men they had lost. It was a large stone, which had actually rolled into the compound during the earthquake and made itself at home right near the front gate. The unique feature of this particular stone is that it had one large nearly flat vertical surface. Newkirk had a special affection for this particular stone, as it was the one beside which he had proposed to his beloved Leticia.

It was Corporal Langenscheidt, who had lost his brother Franz, a military scientific technician, during the earthquake who first came up with the idea of carving the names of all the dead on the stone. It was not a professional job, but it was heartfelt, and in its own way, beautiful. At the top were the simple words, carved in both English and German: "Futility & Tragedy: Rest in Peace, Brothers" Underneath was the date, April 17, 1943. And then all the survivors took turns chiseling the names into the stone. It was an arduous task, undertaken with great respect, and it took nearly an entire year to complete. There had been nearly 750 prisoners plus 200 guards at the time of the earthquake. Only about half survived that terrible day.

 **Epilogue: Reflections**

Hogan sat on the bench outside the barracks reflecting on the events since the earthquake; all they had lost, and all they had gained. It had been a time of great joy mixed with great sorrow, and yet, a time of great growth as well. He could not even begin to imagine what life had in store for them next.

Kinch stepped out the door, a familiar slip of paper in his hand. "Message from London, sir."

Hogan took it absently, not noticing Kinch's eyes were dancing madly. As he read, Hogan' eyebrows raised, and he looked up at his second in command. He then scratched his chin. "Wait here, Sergeant. I'll be right back."

Hogan hurried over to Colonel Klink's office and returned in a few minutes with a box in his hands. Kinch smiled when he saw what Hogan carried. Together they walked back into the barracks and Hogan solemnly placed the box in front of Newkirk, who was busy dealing another in the endless hands of rummy. He looked up, confused. "What's this, Guv?"

Hogan smirked. "Well, it's customary for a man to hand out cigars when he finds out he's gonna be a father, isn't it?" He handed the stunned Englishman the message from London confirming that Leticia Magrita Newkirk was indeed five months pregnant, and doing very well, indeed.

Though Peter was stunned into silence, Andrew was not. "Hot dog, I'm gonna be an uncle!"

And the whole barracks broke into cheers and backslapping, which brought Peter out of his shock.

He stared over at Hogan uncertainly for a moment. And Hogan smiled, "Life, Peter. Life."

~The End~

*Ref. the episode "Klink vs. the Gonculator."


End file.
